Sometimes I look at him and I don’t see him, not the way he is right now. I see the little boy he used to be, the one who snuggled up so close to me I could feel his heart beating and I mourn for those moments in some small way. I can feel him, the memory is that strong. I smell his little boy smell and I inhale the past like I won’t be able to breathe another breath if I don’t.
Yesterday, I held his little hand in mine. It was so tiny and so dependent on me to hold and guide him in the right direction, to lead him and keep him safe. That little hand of his held on tight. It wrapped around my fingers for security and comfort. I can almost still feel it, a precious hand safely tucked inside of mine.
Today, he held my hand in his. It was bigger than my own, and I held on tight, dependent on the comfort and security I felt within its grasp. My hand, the one that held on to his for so long, was being held. I was the one who needed guidance, I was the one who needed the security of a hand bigger than my own. I simply sat there for as long as I could with my hand tucked safely inside of his.
In that moment, my heart beat in time with his, I know it did. We were one. This amazing human being I once carried within my womb was holding my heart in his hand and I was so overwhelmed with emotion I feared he would think he’d done something wrong. He didn’t though, he felt it too, he understood and he simply held my hand.
When he was born and I cradled him in my arms, I never could have imagined a day when he would be the one to cradle me . . . sometimes I truly do miss the little boy he used to be, but oh, how I cherish and admire and respect the man he has become.