One more ounce and I would have given birth to a 13lb baby boy, wow! My children (grandsons included) each have a unique role with in our immediate family. My son is the entertainer, always putting on a show making everyone laugh and the one I look to when I need cheering up. I suppose I’m being a bit selfish, but I miss my baby. I miss his soulful voice when he’s singing my favorites, wrestling with him or grabbing something I can’t reach since he was already 6 feet tall by the age of 12. As a kid he loved drawing, played nearly every sport. Most of my time was spent as soccer mom driving to and from golf courses soccer/football field and every type of mixed martial atrs studio there is. He has a beautiful personality and as he grew older all the younger kids in the neighborhood looked forward to hanging out with him. Teaching them how to do ollies and kick flips on the skateboard and simply being a role model. I’ve always been proud of him and I love him deeply. Now as an adult man married with a child and working a full time job, I don’t get to see him as often as I’d like. I tell my children use me while I’m here. Talk to me instaed of holding everything in, I’ll “listen”. I worry that the pressures of life get overwhelming for him, but he wants to be a “man” and feels he’ll bother me or stress me out with his problems. He struggled the most when I began having seizures and recieved an epilepsy diagnosis which is why I think he’s afraid he’ll be a burden. When he was two months old; although he was in the care of a babysitter, it was my daughter who was seven at the time who realized something was wrong with him. She called me at work several times and on that final call she told me she’s calling 9-1-1 because he hadn’t urinated all day (she was anxious to change his diapers) and he looked like a racoon, with two black eyes. The doctors said if he hadn’t arrived at the hospital when he did, he surely would’ve died from kidney failure. The thing is, I was told he was born a healthy baby. Turns out ( I can’t recal the technical name of the operation) he was born with part of his intestines missing and what he did have was wrapped around other organs is the best I recall his doctor’s explanation. They had to remove his appendix and put organs in their proper place. He was hospitalized for two months. When things get tough for him, I remind him how we (my daughter and I) were never afraid because he is here for a reason. God surely has a purpose for him and I’d like to share one of my favorite poems I’d recite to him in hopes of encouraging him to never give up, written in 1922 by Langston Hughes.
Mother to Son
Well, Son I'll tell you: Life for me ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, And Splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor- Bare. But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on, And reachin' landin's And turnin' corners, And sometimes goin' in the dark Where there ain't been no light. So, boy, don't you turn back. Don't you set down on the steps 'Cause you finds it's kinder hard. Don't you fall now- For I'se still goin; honey, I'se still climbin'; And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.