all we need is to make a memory.
I had just finished tweeting who knows what into the whatever. Something about holding each other. I was shivering in the cold, knowing I needed a sweater if I was going to continue writing this uselessness of the thing (draft 9 of the blasted thesis proposal). 8 long months writing and rewriting the same 3.25 pages. Yea, a sweater is what I needed.
Walking back into the living room, I knew I needed to hold my son. He knows that I forget sometimes, forget to hold him, forget to smile. I forget to function like a human in our relationship. He knows his mother isn’t there even when she is. Not in the way most think. But he doesn’t know why and where she goes. He just knows she isn’t.
So I had to hold him to both remind him I am here, and remind myself that I can be there. Here. Wherever we are.
Because escape is just another place.
I sat down beside him on his bean bag. The boy. He let his Wii remote go, and knew.
“I need a hug, buddy.” I said, forming it mostly like a question. He hugged me sweetly.
And just like my mother used to do, I began crying quietly. His fingers didn’t shift; he never moved. There we sat holding one another.
I reflected on what this must mean–me, as a parent, crying on my son’s seven-year-old shoulder.
“What is hurting you, mom?”
“Money. Stress. Christmas. I don’t think we’re going to have one this year, love. Will you still know mommy loves you if i can’t get you anything?”
“But I want to help!” he cried, pulling away to look at me, trembling and upset. I was about to interject, tell him that it was me failing him, and that had nothing to do with him. But then he continued, “I want to help decorate our tree.” Thank goodness for the fake donated tree a once-friend gave us two years go. Their kindness lives on.
“Of course we can do that. I don’t know about buying gifts. We might not have much under that tree.”
The kid just smiled softly at me and went back to hugging me tightly.
“Mom, I love you most always. And next I love my Jay. And next I love who makes you happy because you smile. It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, kissing my cheek.
sometimes…memories make us.