On Saturday morning I drove into town and picked Emil up at the group home, then dropped him off at the front door of the community hall and went to find a parking place. It was a gorgeous sunny day, a pleasure to walk back down the street to meet Emil on the sidewalk. The hall was packed; Emil was in his glory, strutting with his elbow crutches down the crowded rows between the tables, hoping to see someone he knew.
After an hour the hordes had thinned out, likely headed home for lunch, and I sat down with Aunt Marj at her table for a little visit between customers. That's where I was when I took the picture above. There was a lunch of turkey on a bun being sold in the kitchen but I used the carrot of a restaurant lunch to get Emil out of there after an hour and a half.
There was a wide variety of goods and I was very tempted by a silver fairy pendant that was a perfect match to my silver fairy earrings, but managed to check myself. After all, I rarely remember to wear the necklaces I already have, or most of my earrings for that matter. Instead I bought something I've been in the market for — a hammock. My one impulse buy was a pan of homemade brown sugar fudge.
Emil came home with me after we had chicken burgers at a café, then stayed for supper and overnight — once Everett agreed to let him have his bed and to sleep on the couch himself. This is the first time Emil's spent the night here since moving out at the beginning of September. It was good to have him here. Full nest, I guess.
On Sunday after supper I was driving him back to town to the group home and quizzing him about the conditions there. One of the other residents has developed a behavioral problem and Emil was asked to be patient while a solution was found. After two months things have not improved substantially, and I wanted to know how Emil was feeling about it all. He told me that although he loves his job, and he loves everything else about living at the group home, he would be willing to give them both up in order to move home. As if that wasn't shocking enough to me, could Scott and Everett and I move him home next weekend? Because he has had enough.
I said of course we'll move him home if he is sure he understands the practical consequences of moving out. He seems to. I asked him to say nothing to others about moving until I'd had a chance to talk to the lady who runs the place. I spoke to her by phone yesterday and will talk to her later today; she may present some sort of option. I hope so. It's not that I wouldn't like my son here again in some ways, but that we have all made the adjustment to him living away and it has to happen eventually no matter what, so moving home would seem like a step backward.
My fingers are crossed that things will work out to his advantage. This afternoon I'll pick him up after work and take him for a haircut and a beard and moustache trim, and maybe by then we'll know what we're going to do.