Yesterday

Yesterday I waited for my son to get off the bus.

He is twelve, and has been a treasure to me since the moment of his birth. He is my firstborn, and he is special. Sure, we have our moments when I am too overbearing, or he is too flip or careless with his remarks, but we have a mutual deep love for each other. We have always had a special bond, I think formed in part because of the fact that for a little while in our lives, it has just been the two of us. Terran, my special guy, my little man.

I began to think of all the things that make him who he is. He is moody, but he is twelve. He is also known to smell funky from time to time and have less than clean hair, but again, he is twelve. He likes to build things, mostly from Lego. He is an incredible artist and pays attention to detail in all his sketches. He skateboards. He loves his baby brother and his sister, and although he will not admit to either,I can see that he does. He picks on Madeline. He calls Connor his buddy. He struggles with shyness around adults and is uncomfortable in new situations. He likes shopping for groceries when it is just he and I, and we crack jokes about cheese and eat pickled eggs. He dislikes change. He is genuinely a good kid. He is my boy.

So I waited for the bus to arrive with my son.

While I waited, I thought about all the times he has kept me awake, how I wished that he would sleep for even two hours at a time when he was a baby. I thought about how squeaky his voice was when he was three, and how he knew the difference between a spur gear and a helical gear at that age. I smiled a little when I thought about how squeaky his voice was getting now, on the brink of adolescence. I thought about how easy he was to toilet train, and how he never wet the bed when he was little unless he had a fever. I thought about how suddenly he gets sick with a high fever, and for three years in a row he had strep throat on his birthday. I thought about how brave he was when he walked tearless from the neighbor's house last summer, holding his broken arm against his body as the other boys walked silently alongside him with his twisted bike. I thought about his fine blonde hair, his clear blue eyes, and how fast he was growing up, and away from me.

Then I thought of someone else. Another mother who lost her thirteen year old son last week in a tragic ATV accident. His funeral is tomorrow. I have known the boy's aunt and uncle for many years, and have met the boy, his twin brother, and his mother on a few occasions. The news of his death shook me to the core. I cannot begin to imagine the grief his family must be feeling. I wish the family peace and comfort in these dark days, and my heart breaks for his mother, who is living every mother's worst nightmare. I pray that she will find the strength to get through this horrible tragedy.

Yesterday I waited for my son to get off the bus.

When he walked into the house, I hugged him tightly and told him that I loved him. I told him how much he means to me as I held him close to me and kissed the top of his blonde head. And then I cried. I cried for myself, thankful that I had my son to hug me back, and I cried for the all the mothers who would trade their own lives for one more chance to do just that.