I took your brother to his new gymnastics class today. He’s learning how to walk the balance beam, climb the rope, and leap from up high into a pit of foam.
It reminded me of the days I used to take you to physical therapy. You were so close to walking. You’d smile at me proudly as you took one tiny step at a time. And I’d smile back at your amazing progress from a one pound miracle to a blossoming toddler.
While I sat behind the plexiglass, I heard a cry. It got a little louder and a little longer. I didn’t want to pry, but eventually saw a little guy in a stroller, bored as he sat, asking his mama if he could get out.
And I started to cry. The sound of that toddler, pleading with his mama to let him out and walk. And tears streamed down my face.
For a moment his cry and my cry were one and the same. His was a cry begging for freedom. Mine was a desperate attempt to free myself from the painful loss of you.
I love you, sweet boy. And I miss you terribly.