Dear Turner,
I had the best afternoon with you. Thanks for the purple bats, the dance party after Word Girl, the gym time, the "cuddlin" with Finx (who has a new, longer name of Finx Sheriff), the rounds of Go Fish over "Mom's not Nanny's macaroni and cheese," the hide and go seek, and for doing your homework because you're excited and not forced to do it. Thanks from PaPa for calling him to make sure he didn't blow away in the storm today. Thanks also for being so entertaining and such great company. I love to hear the conversations you come up with between paper bats and the arsenal of toys that take up space in our never-ever-clean bathtub. I don't know how you do it, but you smile so often and so wide and with such enthusiasm that you make my body warm inside.
I love our Tuesdays, and the way I get to just let every setback and discouraging moment go at 2:10 pm. I rush out of my class, abandon my students, hop on my bike, pedal like the wind, stuff the bike in the car, and drive to your school. There, I wait outside and make small talk with strangers who love their kids like I love you, and then the bell rings and you come running to me like you haven't seen me in days. You are eager to double-check whether you read my lunchbox message to you correctly and to share the details of your day. I'm thankful you don't say "nothing" happened.
Tonight, I ask to read Good Night God. You aren't interested. I ask if you talk to God. You say, "Yes. I ask God about Grandma Bow. I ask God to take care of her because she is so special." I'm all tears in a moment, but I try to hide. I tell you how important it is to have someone to talk to about life and the ups and downs and the people we love. You agree. Then you are quiet.
"I wonder who will pass away next."
"I don't know. You never know that T. That's why it is so important to grab at what is in front of you and love with conviction." I reach out to you, grab you, pull you down onto the bed and find the special spots that make you squeal. Finally we get settled into bed and read Swimmy, the Little Fish with Big Ideas. At the end I say, "You know Turner, Swimmy has the right idea. When you want things in life you gotta believe in them. Believe and be stubborn. That's always worked for me. Figure out that thing you want more than anything, and then get it." You think on this for a minute.
I turn out the light and get nose-close to you. "You know the thing I always wanted? Wanted more than anything?"
You look in my eyes and put your hands on my face and say, "Me." Exactly. More tears, these I can't hide.
Yes, son, you are the most amazing thing I've ever known or could ever hope to experience. I am so filled up by life because you are absolutely amazing at being you, the very thoughtful, courageous, understanding, and curious you. I wish I could do again each of those nights that I rushed through stories, nights when I "needed" to grade papers, catch up with a friend, clean the kitchen, or work on my never-ending dissertation. Never again will you be five. I will always have work in front of me, behind me, around me, and consuming me. But, you will never be five again. Thank you for the perspective tonight. For reminding me that I already have all that I ever wanted. And. It. Just. Keeps. Growing.
Love from here to the moon and back,
Mom.
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