I've made it to day three. Half way there. (Since it's after noon here.) I still don't know how on earth I'm going to get through. I am weepy. And I hate to cry. I am physically ill. My stomach hurts. I stopped even trying to sleep. I lay in bed and do my best to think of all the positive things he is learning and all the fun he is having and just as I start to doze, my sickening fear comes through and twists it to something horrible, and he is hurt, or lost or dying and there is nothing I can do about it, and I'm wide awake all over again. So then I try to think of something else... laundry, the dogs, anything... and my fear comes in and says... yep, he's dying and you will never have to do his laundry again...just think of how many times you have complained about laundry... never again... the dogs? The dogs will never understand where he is - they already try to sleep outside his door or sneak in his room and sleep on his bed... they won't understand that he is never coming home.... I HAVE to stop this. I have to have faith that he is fine. I have to shake this inconsolable fear. That's all it is, unreasonable, unrationable fear. I have to let him grow into a man. This is part of the process. This is a maturing experience. He will come back more grown up than when he left. He will have had the time of his life. And I will be so happy to see him that I don't know if I can put it into words. Nothing will allow this lump to dissipate until I see him. Until I hug him and kiss him and he looks over at his friends and says, "MOM". Until then. THIS SUCKS.