They spent the days of his convalescence reading together and taking slow, leisurely walks in the sunshine. She remembered the days of his beginning, when they first brought him home. He fit so perfectly in her arms then. She distinctly remembered the curve of his baby cheek. And how he would cry if she left him. This brief illness had reduced him somehow–brought back some of that vulnerability. He wanted to be near her again. What began as inconvenience had grown into something beautiful. The slow pace of the past couple days reminded her how tender she had once been.

And now she is shocked by his shadow beside hers–the bigness of it. And she wonders…Where did the time go?


  1. says

    I think it’s those unexpected moments of pause that allow us to see things for what they are. To appreciate, take in and remember.

    I try to hold tightly to the time, but it slips through my fingers too quickly.

  2. says

    Sometimes I think I’m the healthiest spiritually when I’m physically sick. There’s something so raw and vulnerable and unhurried about it all.

    And you …


    You capture that so beautifully. I don’t even know if that was your intention — but that’s one of the ways this spoke to me. So tender …

  3. says

    tender and vulnerable is okay. Strange how I used to let that mean powerless and angry and frightening. Now seeing it as beginnings.
    And this shift in your relationship with your son, or rather the seeing of it, is such affirmation isn’t it.

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