My son has been gone for weeks now, participating in a 10-week series of snowboarding lessons that makes it a logistical nightmare to get him to Denver for his normal weekends. Since January 7, my contact with him has been minimal. A weekend together in Summit County, where we skied, snow tubed and visited friends. A few e-mails and phone calls here and there. A short weekend coming up in a few days, simply because it has been too long, and another long weekend later this month. Finally, in late March, the lessons, and this unusual separation, ends.

I have been unusually busy during this time, filling in the gaps in time almost too well with classes, social outings and projects. I avoid spending any time in his room. It is lifeless and cold without him. I focus instead on things like this class, an exploration in what direction the rest of my life should take. I focus on making the most and the best of all this time on my own, investing in friends, investing in my job, investing in my home.

Unlike most parents, I'll be well prepared when Robby leaves home for college and his adult life. Since he was 14 months old and his dad and I separated, my life has always been split between being a mother and a single, working woman. For better or worse, this is a lifestyle to which I've become accustomed.

Yet I realize my days with this amazing little boy, now arguably a young man, are fleeting and precious. Our bond is, I believe, steel strong. Yet I can never know him, and certainly never love him, enough. I can only try.

So this weekend, when he comes home for the first time since early January, he will find a letter waiting for him on his bed. Here is what it will say:

Dear Robby,

In the weeks you’ve been gone, I’ve been thinking a lot about (and missing!) you.

I came up with a couple questions I’m hoping you’ll answer for me. Take your time. Write them out. Even though some of these may seem hard at first, or are things you’ve never thought about, please try to write an answer for me, even a partial one and we can go from there if you’d like.

As your mom, I may know you better than anyone in your life, but I will never know you well enough. And I think there may be plenty of things about me you don’t know. I’m thinking we can have some fun and learn more about both of us! So .... here goes:

1) What one thing have you wanted to do with me but never have?

2) What one thing about me would you like to know, or know more about?

3) What have you done with me in the past that you really enjoyed but don't get to do often enough?

4) What one thing scares you most?

And here, to wrap this up, is a little message for you:

I want you to know with every breath you take that although the world can be hard and tough sometimes, it's all OK because you are so loved. You are surrounded by souls who would do anything to help you. And not only that - you have wisdom and patience of your own, buried deep inside your being, which will reveal themselves further and grow stronger over time, and carry you through any trial.

Meanwhile, I am here to guide you, love you, and hold you through your greatest joys and any moments of uncertainty.

You are a gift from God to me, to all of us who love you, and those precious and lucky people days and years into your future who have yet to meet you.

Love Always, Mom

I confess this is not my idea. The questions came from a column written by a single dad who, struggling to maintain a bond with his children, penned them occasional letters with questions like these. The message at the end, I'm ashamed as a writer to say, is one modified from the book, "Eat, Love, Pray." Those few paragraphs brought tears to my eyes when I first read them, and even though they are not mine, seemed something Robby - perhaps all children - need to hear. Even more, to know with unwavering certainty.

Hopefully, Robby will offer answers to all these questions. If so, I will share some, if not all of them, with you here.

Meanwhile, I must spend some time in that empty room that is his, hanging clean clothes and Christmas presents that have for weeks occupied space on his bed, dusting, vacuuming and in general, turning it back into a place ready for life, one that welcomes him back. The pillowcases will be smoothed, the pillows fluffed and the comforter smoothed. And on top of it, I will place this single envelope on which will be written two words: "Welcome home!"