Great Gulf

Early this morning in my tossing and turning, I had this dream that my son Landon was returning, or at least he was walking past us. He was totally ignoring us as he walked. This angered me greatly and in my sleep I was flailing away at him, beating upon the pillow.
The anger of his ignoring us getting to me.
Not a day goes by that my sorrow does not well up as I think of Nathaniel growing further apart from us, with each passing day forgetting a little more of pappa and meme and Rocko, and Jordon and all his relatives here. I do, like that dream, feel like finding Landon and Amber and somehow punching sense into them.
I grow impatient as my prayers hit the steel firmament and bounce back unanswered.
I clearly see the day I do not live long enough to see him again, or meme, or any of us.
And still I pray on, perhaps not fervent enough. Is prayer a thing of works or a thing of faith?
Are my prayers answered any quicker by fervency?
Perhaps by the continued bombarding the Father will rise from His sleep and give the beggar some bread of answer.