OneSon

I know by heart the shape of his head and the way the sun reflects off his hair. I know the freckles and moles on his arms and the smudgy profile that has become long and broad since our first meeting. On that day, I could circle his wrist with my thumb and forefinger as I cradled him gently against my heart.

He wiggled out of my arms a hundred thousand times to explore the world and make it his. I watched life fall in love with him, the same easy way I fell in love. His heart beats strong, and there is a willingness that propels him forward. Sometimes I hear him come by in the quiet thoughts of morning, checking if my arms are still there if he needs them. He lingers a second or two before turning tail and dashing out of sight. Life for him is laughter and hard work and full of obstacles, just as I hoped.

I have to look up now to see his handsome face and smile.  Like a foolish investor, I have tossed in with him all that I am, my assets, my liabilities, my heart.  It is impossible to remember the feel of life before his hand wrapped around my finger on his first steps because it has always been an all-or-nothing proposition that believes wholly in the promise and glory of my son.