Dereck is psychic. That’s the only way I can explain it. Last Thursday, I heard him picking at his computer keyboard long after his bedtime.

“Dereck, you’re supposed to be in bed! What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He quickly turned off the screen and jumped into bed. In the morning, when I woke him up for camp, I asked again what he’d been doing.

“Writing a letter to my mom.” He looked up at me, and his lip quivered.

“Do you miss her?” A nod, and tears.

“Are you worried about her?” Another nod, more emphatic, and more tears.

Of our three boys, siblings whom we adopted from foster care, Dereck was the most attached to his mother. He’d treated her like a doll, combing her hair and comforting her when she was unable to take care of them.

In the two years he’s lived with us, there have been days when he suddenly starts worrying whether she’s OK. And, each time, we’ve found she’d been trying to make contact–like that day when Dereck had a meltdown, and we’d later found out that his birth mom had called the social worker a dozen times, pleading for contact.

She continues to deny her problems, even though Dereck was born addicted to drugs. During her supervised visits while the boys were in foster care, she’d had a habit of disappearing into the bathroom three or four times. Week after week, her drug tests came back positive, and the courts finally gave up on her.

While we didn’t think face-to-face contact would be healthy, we didn’t want the boys to lose touch with their birth mom, so we opened a P.O. box. A year passed with no word. Then, one day, Dereck had a breakdown. We checked the mailbox later that day and found her letter.

So Dereck’s behavior when I’d caught him at his computer signaled that something was up. “Did you finish your letter?”

He told me he hadn’t. “Why don’t you finish it before camp? Later, we’ll check the post office and see if your mom wrote.” He nodded.

After dropping him off, I read his letter. For the first time, he’d mentioned his birth dad. The boys’ birth father had walked away the last time their birth mom had been arrested. He’d told the social worker, “This is too damned hard. You deal with it.”

The boys hadn’t seen him since, and the courts couldn’t locate him. As far as we knew, their birth mom had no contact with him, either. But Dereck’s letter was written as if they were together. I was puzzled.

After camp we stopped by the box, and, sure enough, there was a letter. At the end, she’d written, “Your father asked to move back in. We’ve had too many heartaches, so I said no. But would you like him to know how you are?”

Yep. Dereck is psychic.

He changed his letter a bit, telling his mom to let their birth dad know they’re happy.

Then, it was as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Whatever had gotten hold of him, the connection he still didn’t understand, passed. He and his brothers ran out to play catch in the yard, and I could hear him, screaming with delight.