“You napped until you were 5,” I’ll tell my son.
You were stubborn as any icicle in hell, that’s for sure. Always staunchly certain you’d survive the afternoon until sleep melted your resistance into dreams.
I always loved that moment when I’d peak my head into your room to find silence holding you softly in its arms, your little body in a contorted position, warm and sweaty, with a familiar pink dusting your eye lids.
I’d close my eyes and whisper quietly, “God, I love this little boy, please keep him safe.”
My heart always danced a funny flitter. Any good parent watching over a healthy, innocent child knows this magical, frightening feeling.
What will happen when you go off to school? I’d think.
Share your first kiss?
Fall in love for all the wrong reasons?
Will you believe in soulmates,
And find yours in the girl whose eyes pull you toward her spirit?
Sometimes when we hit the road,
I reach my hand behind the seat to lace your little fingers in between mine.
We drive, without question, holding hands, and you never seem to ask me why.
I just reach, and like gravity, you reach too.
We sit in the silence because sometimes, as you always say,
We just like the quiet.
Yes, the quiet.
Today you said something, and I wanted to cry, but we were in the grocery store, and you wouldn’t have understood my tears, or maybe you would have.
Rounding the corner near aisle 6, I watched you stop, scrunch your forehead and say,
“Mommy, there’s something inside my heart that makes me go the same direction as other people.”
My eyes widened, and you waited patiently for my reaction.
I asked you to repeat what you had said because, well because I wanted to hear it again and make sure I wasn’t making things up in my mind, as I often love to do (hence poetry).
Again, a bit irritated with me now, you said:
“Mommy, listen, there’s something inside my heart that makes me go the same direction as other people.”
You did a little dance around the shopping cart, and the quiet came over us again.
I felt a lump in my throat surface, and tears glazed my eyes,
Spirit wanting to cleanse itself upon hearing this profound truth
Spoken by you.
You didn’t mind that I was at a loss for words.
Sometimes truth is loud enough that commentary seems noisy.
We kept walking in the same direction.
Sometimes I wonder who you are, I wonder how you know these things. I wonder why you trust me and love me as you do. I wonder if you know how much you’ve taught me. I wonder what your friends will think. What your teachers will say. Where your heart will lead you. What direction and with what kind of people you’ll walk.
Lucas, something inside my heart makes me go in the same direction as other people too. It’s the reason I get up every day. It’s the feeling that moves me to hold you closer. It’s the hunch that nudged me to create this blog. I think what you’re referring to is connection.
Yes, I believe that something in your heart is yearning for connection, for love, for compassion, for acceptance. Something greater. Something more.
I know because I feel it too. But oh my wise little Buddha Lucas, you don’t have to look very far – because all of those things are already in you, right there in your heart. You feel it because you were born with those things.
As my favorite poet often says, “We are born whole. We need others to be complete.”
My little light Lucas, you’ve got the answers already, at age 4! Now go and keep walking where your heart wishes to lead you.
Your light will brighten so many people.
Thank you for making me smile, even now as I write this. I can’t wait to share these memories with you when you’re old enough to understand how much you’ve helped mommy.
But for now, I’d like to keep walking in the same direction as you, that’s if you don’t mind of course.
I love you,