Bang! The sound of a door slamming shut awakens me from a dreamy mid-afternoon nap.  Slowly I force myself out of bed.  A quick glance out the window to the driveway confirms my husband’s car is gone.  No one is home.  Obviously Rick must have left and taken the kids with him on an errand. 

Someone,  in a hurry probably banged the door shut.  I check the back door, both locks are secure.  The front door however is unlocked. Definitely NOT good. 

Now I am wide awake!  I grab my phone and dash out the front door as I hurriedly dial my husband’s number.  “Honey, do you have Josiah with you?”  Josiah is our 9 year old son who has disabilities and lately has taken to exploring the neighborhood unescorted.  “No.  I left him home with you.  He was lying beside you when I left.”  “How long ago was that?”  I ask.  The door banged no less than 5 minutes earlier which assures me Rick hadn’t been gone for long.  “I left 40 minutes ago” he replied. 

Instantly, panic begins to set in.

Now, I am running, unsure of which way to go.  Our house is on the corner. There are 3 possible directions I could take.   I notice a pick-up truck driving slowly about 8 houses down so I head in that direction.  Sure enough, a kind woman is watching my little boy from her truck window as he darts barefoot across the street, dragging a white sock. He zips up the sidewalk of a neighbor’s home. 

I slow my sprint to a casual jog and call his name in a sing song voice, trying to act nonchalant as if this is what every loving mother does on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.  Nothing more than enjoying a fun little game of chase with my precocious son.  I don’t fool anyone.  By the time I get to him, Josiah is tugging and pushing on a neighbor’s door, trying to get into the home of a total stranger. 

The woman slowly turns her truck around to watch the show.  Thankfully the door he is trying so desperately to open is locked.  My mind instantly wanders.  I think of what might have happened had the door been unlocked and my son had gotten inside.  I may never have found him.  What would he have done in that house?  Would he have known how to get out?  Would he have known how to get home?  Would he have known how to get help if he needed it?  

Josiah is non-verbal.  He was not wearing any sort of identification.  I shudder to think of the possibilities.   

I brush the thoughts aside, reach for Josiah’s hand and knowingly shake my head in an effort to convey to the truck woman that he is such a silly little guy.  We start the walk back home.  The compassionate stranger stops me to ask if he is my son.  She mentions that he had just been at the front door of another neighbor’s house.  

Oh my goodness.  How many houses did he try to break into?  What were his intentions? 

I’ve heard stories of  children who elope.  Eloping is the term used to describe unauthorized departure; leaving without permission.  I remember hearing of a child who found his way into a neighbor’s house, crawled up on the couch and snuggled the sleeping owner.   The woman awoke to find a strange child wrapped in her arms.  Sweet, but scary none the less. 

As the truck woman and I chat for a moment, Josiah hurls the white sock he had been dragging down the street into her open window.  It zings right past her face, smacks the passenger side window and falls on the seat of her truck.  I just smiled.

One thing I learned early on about having a child with disabilities, it helps to have a sense of humor.  

I am making plans to host a neighborhood block party.  ALL our neighbors need to meet Josiah.  Should they ever awake to find him snuggling in their arms or walking through their living room dragging a sock, they will need to know where to return him.