He has my eyes, my mouth, my heart. But he has always been his own person, wonderfully different. It’s made things a little harder, because sometimes we can’t wrap our minds around him. But from the day we brought him home and he turned those milky eyes on me, I knew I would never be free of love again.
So when he says, “She turned out to not be a very nice person in the end.” I just nod because I know his heart is breaking but he’ll be ok. He has a strong foundation.
This has been a house of healing, in more ways than one. Even before the surgery that’s kept him home with me, he was being knit back together. I tell him I would keep him home forever; that I love having his company. Shouldn’t we spend more time together, he and I? And he just gives me a shadow of a smile—the one that makes me want to open the shaft of his heart and mine those deep places.
But instead I remind him, “Senior pictures.” So we decide to practice. I know I must get my hands on that glorious hair of his. He dips his head in the sink and I run water over those locks. It takes a step stool to reach out over him now and as I cup water to the nape of his neck, I remember when I held him in one arm, scrubbed his downy head with baby shampoo.
I move slower for the memory. And as I run my fingers through those thick curls, I feel the holy in the moments; I feel the way we all are being held by mother-love.
I’m taking the time every day, to invite God into my ordinary, to notice how life responds to his presence when my heart is open to him. It’s a practice that inspired a book. And I’m sharing in community with the 31 dayers.