I couldn’t tell you the content of the story that he was
telling, only that he was animated in its delivery. I was too captivated by the storyteller to be
bothered by the specifics of his telling.
Watching him from the corner of my eye it is almost impossible to
reconcile the young man next to me with the baby boy who sat strapped in a
carseat behind me not so very long ago. When did his chin grow pointy, chiseled? Those big hands he’s gesturing with? They used to fit so snugly in mine. And his voice! Somehow it comes from down deeper now, rumbly
and rich. But I can still hear my baby
coming across his monitor, using it like a walkie-talkie. Summoning me with a sweet, simple
“Mommy?”. Turning the corner into his
room and seeing that sweet, smiling face waiting for me to rescue him from the
confines of his crib – it took my breath away every. single. time. . . “I’m
right here, baby boy.” And just like
then, sitting beside him now, in absolute awe of the gift that he is, he still
takes my breath away.
By the time we’re in the car bound for school each morning,
his sleepy mind is waking, and he’s reviewing his day. Making plans, remembering, wondering, maybe a
little scheming. He tells me things on
these journeys we share. I get brief,
precious glimpses into his heart. He
feels things so big. He wonders and
worries – he always has. And he is, at
his very core, so very kind and pure and everything that is good and right in
this world. He has my undivided
attention, and he revels in it. He asks
what I think, and actually listens when I answer him. I work hard to make him laugh, just so I can
hear him. His eyes twinkle and roll
heavenward when he tells me I’m “weird”, and I love it.
These morning school rides together, just he and me, are
precious gifts. And I am all too aware
that they are fleeting. Soon he’ll feel
more comfortable running these things by his buddies, and then eventually,
he’ll talk with “her” instead. And that
is exactly as it should be. But for now,
I’m going to soak him in. Maybe drive a little slower, miss that green light on
purpose every now and again. For now, for always, “I’m right here, baby
boy”.
Happy 13th
birthday, my Cooper. Question what you’re
not absolutely certain about. Wonder if
things should be different/could be better, and then go to work to make it so. Be a voice for someone who is just too weary
to speak for himself. Go ahead, give them
the shirt off of your back, we’ll get you a new one. Dream big - not getting there is ok; not
trying is not. Treat her like a lady –
ALL hers. Don’t be afraid to be still
and quiet. Keep moving forward. Look for things that make you feel “in awe”. When in doubt, don’t post it, snap it, say
it, or tweet it. Be kind. There are far too many words in the English
language to waste time using the foul ones.
Have faith – you can’t see the oxygen
you’re breathing, but it is most certainly there. And when it, whatever “it” is, gets hard,
when it’s just too much . . . I’m right here, baby boy.
More than you’ll ever know,
Mommy