Last weekend was full of smiles and busy with lots of running around. A haircut, a sleep over with grandma, a gymnastic misunderstanding, a quick trip to a playground and then another with the new friend, different friends over for dinner, playing with their two boys – sidewalk chalk, bouncy house, trains, cars, dinner with the Roc in the middle, puzzles, ice cream sundae desserts, and finally one terrific crash leaving two boys with lumps and bruises on their heads and lots of tears from one and lots of screaming from another.
So many moments where progress was noted, a moment when my eyes misted up to hear my parents talk about how many changes they’ve noticed since we moved here in June, the moment that brought me back to the place when I broke apart inside, and I gasped at the searing pain, remembering when I breathed that pain every day.
So many stories I wanted to write about.
But my mind keeps coming back to one moment.
The Roc and I were at a little park, our new friends had just left, we decided to walk down the trail before heading to the parking lot. I took the Roc’s hand in mine and again wondered how long I would be allowed to hold his hand. When would he get to the age where that isn’t cool anymore? Will he get there? Do I care?
I looked down at the sun bouncing off the Roc’s new hair cut, his blonde hair already turning blonder, signs of summer around the corner. He turned his face up to mine and I saw those beautiful blue eyes. Sometimes I am still startled to see them, to hold their gaze, to see him see me.
“I love you Roc, so much,” I told him.
“I love you Mommy,” he said.
I stopped on the trail and wrapped my arms around him. He did the same, his arms snaking around my middle, holding on. I pulled him tighter, laid my cheek against his hair, breathing him in, eyes closed, remembering that first spontaneous hug outside his bathroom in Delaware. I take none of this for granted.
“I like being with you Mommy,” he said.
“Oh, I always like being with you Roc. You are my favorite little boy ever. Do you know that?” I asked him.
“You are my favorite Mommy,” he replied.
I felt the sun on my back, heard the wind in the trees, and my heart was full and thankful for the gift of the Roc.
“Am I your person?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he whispered into my shirt.