Reflection: Motherhood

A love letter to my oldest son

Here at Heartfelt Fiction, I mostly share, well, fiction. Even if a story is written in the first person, it’s a fictional point of view. But every now and then, I want to tell the story of my own life. Thus, the Reflection series. These are little love letters to the people in my life or the moments that matter most. To make sure you never miss one, be sure to subscribe.

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I held your hand as we walked to school today.

You reached up to grab my hand absentmindedly. I took yours like it was the most natural thing.

I listened, rapt, to your explanation of koala bear babies. Did I know they’re only the size of a jelly bean? No, no I honestly didn’t.

I giggle at your jokes. What’s a skeleton’s favorite instrument? A trombone! I’m serious when I tell you that I’ve never heard that one before.

I tell you that I’ll pick you up at the end of the day. You roll your eyes because you already know that.

I stop at the schoolyard fence and kiss your cheek as I pull you in for a hug. I tell you that I love you. You walk away but turn back to wave once, twice, again, before heading into the building.

Later I was struck by how fleeting this ritual is.

Grown men do not walk hand in hand down the street with their mothers. I wish they did, but because they don’t, I know this moment is precious.

There will soon come a day where you’ll only walk next to me if we are silent. Shortly after you’ll ask to go alone. In no time at all you’ll drive yourself. Next thing I know, you’ll take that same car and drive it all the way away from the home I built for you.

I don’t bemoan that future. It’s just the way of things. Each step away from me will be a step closer to yourself. Participating in that journey is my life’s great honor.

So every opportunity I have, I will squeeze your small, but no longer tiny hand. I’ll kiss your ever-lengthening fingers twined in mine. I’ll say a small prayer of thanks for your boyhood and I that I can hold your hand as I walk you to school.