I see beauty when I look at this picture.  Strange?  Not really.
  I see a 17 year old's heart and soul.
 I picture him underneath this truck tweaking, tightening, loosening.
 I see his hard earned money buying stickers, whips and a CB.
  I see his face breaking out in a grin after he came home mudding.
 I see him and his little brother, pulling out of the driveway, innertubes ratchet strapped to the bed, and I'm praying they don't break a leg flying down the snow hill.
 I see him spending most of his paycheck to fill that truck with gas.  And not caring because he loves it so much. 

But then...it was taken.  Stolen.  Poof.  Gone. 
His first heartbreak. 
We got it back.  But it would never be the same. 
Stripped and full of garbage. 

I see a therapist.  Her name is Jamie.  A week before this happened, we talked about anger. She thinks that  I don't feel like it's a acceptable feeling.  I told her...Yes I do!  I get angry! She said...at what? At whom?
I said...um.....well.....

Jamie: What if I told you to fill a whole sheet of paper of things that made you angry.

Amy: Can I do "regrets" instead?  Because I could feel a whole notebook full of those!

Jamie: No.  This is about anger.  Who and what.

Amy: Can I list myself?  All the things I'm mad at myself for?

Jamie: No

Amy: How about bad drivers?  They make me angry sometimes.  Well, not exactly angry.  Especially if they are old,  maybe they can't see very well.  Then I just feel sorry for them.

Jamie: (looks at me and shakes her head)

Amy: I'll try.


I know what will be first on my paper.  The creeps who stole my sons truck.  I was mad.  I wanted to cuss and scream and hunt them down. I wanted to hurt them the way they hurt my son. 
The anger burned through me.  I let it tunnel through my veins. 
It felt good to feel. 

The truck is gone now.  It would never be the same and Darren couldn't bear to drive it.  He sold it.  Made enough to put a down payment on another truck.  He feels hope.  He's excited about his new truck.  His joy came back.  My anger faded. 

I am glad I was here.  To put my arm around him as we watched the tow truck pull up and dump the stolen vehicle in our driveway.  To see his face light up talking about his new truck.  To feel the anger and the sadness and to see the happiness he felt again.

I almost missed it. I'm glad I didn't. Even though it hurt.  I felt like a real live person.  Anger feels better then feeling nothing at all.  So I guess I'm grateful for anger.  And grateful that it fades and melts away into something better. Something like joy.  One day I'll believe that I deserve to feel that one too.

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