I lie beside Morgan. It is just before dinner. He feels a bit under the weather but is cheerful nonetheless. I hear myself saying the words, " I love you," over and over again. He grins and move closer to me.
There are many things, many stories I want to tell him. But where to start? And which one? Our dreams? Our plans? My heart is in knots. How to tell him in a way he can understand? In a way his mind will allow him to? I wonder what stories other parents tell their children. I wonder whether they have similar worries as I have. I wonder briefly. And then I breathe too deeply and look at my king. "I love you, I love you, I love you," I continue to tell him.
I remember a time. I am 28 years old, 5 months pregnant. I lie in bed. My hands cradle my belly. I talk to the life growing inside me. "You will be relentless, strong and fierce. You will conquer a great many things."
I am back to the present. My mind is on the many things, the many stories I want to tell him. The many worries for our future hover over me. Morgan looks at me, his gaze speaking the words I said to him back when he could still hear my heartbeat from the inside of my body. This time it is him saying to me, "You are relentless, strong and fierce, Mama. You can conquer everything."
Morgan is 8 years old. In so many ways he is still the fragile life I cradle delicately. Or perhaps my own 35 year-old heart is the one that is fragile. In tremendous ways, it is.
Maybe it does not matter whether the day will come when Morgan can understand the immensity of all the things and stories I want to tell him. Maybe in the end what truly matters is how much I do the repeated words of "I love you." And maybe what matters the most is how we live the story we tell ourselves, how we are relentless, strong and fierce and how we shall conquer a great many things.
There are many things, many stories I want to tell him. But where to start? And which one? Our dreams? Our plans? My heart is in knots. How to tell him in a way he can understand? In a way his mind will allow him to? I wonder what stories other parents tell their children. I wonder whether they have similar worries as I have. I wonder briefly. And then I breathe too deeply and look at my king. "I love you, I love you, I love you," I continue to tell him.
I remember a time. I am 28 years old, 5 months pregnant. I lie in bed. My hands cradle my belly. I talk to the life growing inside me. "You will be relentless, strong and fierce. You will conquer a great many things."
I am back to the present. My mind is on the many things, the many stories I want to tell him. The many worries for our future hover over me. Morgan looks at me, his gaze speaking the words I said to him back when he could still hear my heartbeat from the inside of my body. This time it is him saying to me, "You are relentless, strong and fierce, Mama. You can conquer everything."
Morgan is 8 years old. In so many ways he is still the fragile life I cradle delicately. Or perhaps my own 35 year-old heart is the one that is fragile. In tremendous ways, it is.
Maybe it does not matter whether the day will come when Morgan can understand the immensity of all the things and stories I want to tell him. Maybe in the end what truly matters is how much I do the repeated words of "I love you." And maybe what matters the most is how we live the story we tell ourselves, how we are relentless, strong and fierce and how we shall conquer a great many things.
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