Guaranteed sleepless nights. But that's okay.

The nights you call, I have trouble sleeping.
I don't want you to feel badly about it, though.  I'm consumed with thoughts of you, even though you're never far from me, inside.
It's not the same though.  Not the same as having you home.  Having you safe.
I worry, because both Jay and I hear the tones in your voice, and we know that you're getting excited, and we suspect that it's on purpose.
Neither of us are upset about it, just worried about you.
We worry that you don't have anyone to talk to, that you spend a lot of time alone, or with Valerie.
Which is very much like being alone, from all accounts.

We miss you, love.  There are big, Adrienne sized holes in our life.  Multiple ones.

We went to dinner at Jay's uncle Shane's apartment.   He's an artist, but has a different style then Nomi does.  Pretty cool artwork on his walls.  Lots of eyes.  I think you would have liked it.

No sleep. ...but I got to talk to you. I count it a win.

So.
You keep calling, which both revitalizes me, and rocks my world again.
The things you say about what's going on there worries me.  Nothing beyond the "neglect" you were suffering under before, but I gave you better.  I showed you that life could be different.
I'm not sure that was the right decision.

You keep stealing phones in the middle of the night, and having whispered conversations about how much you love and miss me.  About how nothing is right.  About when you come home.
The way you pointedly call her Mother, with a pointedness in your voice.  About how you still make sure to call me Mom, even though I never asked that of you.
I taught you to fight for what you wanted.
I'm not sure that was the right decision, either.
Anyway.

When they grow up, sometimes they turn out like this.

That's Nomi. I emotionally raised her, until our mother moved her to Vancouver....and..online, via messenger, as soon as she got herself privacy at a computer.
I hope that you remember Nomi.  She sent you some stuff, which I'm still trying to work out a way to get to you.

The other reason that I bring her up.
Our mother decided that she wanted us not to talk, once I'd made the decision not to have our mother in my life anymore.
Not sure that you remember much more about Ruth, then the indignation you suffered when she peed on your chair.
I miss you. Every single day.
You are never far from my thoughts, not ever, and I hope you know that you will always have a home in my heart.