For being one of nine offspring, Benjamin takes a big chunk of my mental acuity. Even the twins swiveled from mostly work to mostly play about thirteen years ago. I remember a time I was changing one of them and heard a honk on the street outside. Instantly I knew the other twin had escaped and was standing in the road. Someone figured I wanted to know. But as teenagers they are complete blessings. This week they made my lunch more times than I made theirs. Brought me cold water in the sweaty costume room.

But Benjamin continues to be an enigma, and I saw the impending conditions that were scheduled to converge this week. Zack, who moved home, was a counselor at camp. The twins were counselors too at a different camp, the one in which I was expected to costume fifty aspiring Arabians. John had clergy meetings all day every day, and our daughter Chara was ripening to deliver a baby. Meanwhile Benjamin, who does better with routine, had a completely empty schedule. 

How was this supposed to work? 

I guess the answer is "barely".

I made sure there was food in the fridge, gave him his morning pills, wished him well, and walked out the door. It felt irresponsible. Cavalier. Dangerous. 

And freeing. 

I got word on Monday that he had taken a jaunt around the block. My town is sweet that way, keeping me appraised. But I was in the waiting room twenty miles away biting my nails while our daughter was in labor. Ben made it home safely. So did our granddaughter. 

There are no security cameras to let me know if he did indeed have any meltdowns, or eat all the ice cream in the freezer. But each evening he was in his chair, with dirty bowls around him like souvenirs. We asked how his day had been. 

"Wanna hear a joke?"

"Sure Ben."

"Why shouldn't you give a bear the remote?"

"I don't know."

"Because he will always push pause."