It is past his bedtime. He is snuggled on his tummy, tucked in tight under his baby blanket that just barely covers his tippy toes. I lay next to him on my stomach, facing him so that we are nearly nose to nose. I slowly and gently stroke his hair as I sing “You are my sunshine” quietly. All is still and we slowly come down from the day together, relaxing into the darkness of the evening. Slowly, so slowly I hear a sound start to rise from him. It is a soft keening, building in his throat and before I know what has happened there are giant tears slipping down his cheeks. And the keening rises to a wail of anguish and suddenly he is sobbing and choking out the words,

“I don’t want you to die.”

“I love you so much.”

“Please mommy, please don’t die.”

I press closer to him so that his tears spill onto my face and I rub his back and murmur to him that I am not going to die, that I am going to be with him for a long, long time. And he clings to me and sobs and his hot breath warms my face and my heart aches with all the love I have for him.

And he cries himself dry. And exhausted, he sleeps.

I pray that when I look back at this time of Beckett’s life, I remember. More than just wild and silly and terrible threes, I pray I remember his heart. His giant capacity to love. I want to remember that when Kate is sad he tries to make her laugh. That when I am frustrated he always, with wide blue eyes worried, asks if I’m mad at him. That he wants me to smell his breath after he eats. That he loves dinosaurs.That his favorite color is blue. That he cries if I walk up the stairs too fast for him to keep up. That any time I put on a dress, or make-up, he tells me I am beautiful. That he still asks me if I’m sad that Pops is gone. That he gives the best hugs. That his hair curls when he gets sweaty. That he is the most animated child in his class during chapel, and that he sings with his whole body. That he, in all honesty, wants to live with me forever. That he cried this morning because Kate will move away some day when she “grows up.” That he loves apples so much he eats two or three a day. More if I would let him. I want to remember the way his hair smells after a bath. The sound of his giggle. How much he loves babies. And that the thing he fears most in the dark of night is that I would someday go away and not come back.

Please, God.

Help me remember.

8 thoughts on “Remember

  1. Tracy Lyle says:

    Oh…now that just wasn’t fair Liz! And worst timing of month for me. Was NOT prepared for this one…but couldn’t stop reading….and crying…and crying. So many emotions come up.
    Addison has done this same thing with me. Out of the blue…saying she’ll miss me and still love me when I go to Heaven. Telling me that “someone will Mommy” help her lift her wedding dress when I’m not there. Where did THAT just come from?! And similar things said that make me stop dead in my tracks. Killer…just killer!
    Thanks for making me step back in my thoughts for a moment to remember to appreciate the most important little things. Now to just compose myself again. 😉 Loved it! Thanks Liz!

    • edelspot says:

      Aw, so glad you can relate! They are such precious little people when they aren’t trying to drive us crazy, and thinking about their wedding days… now you have me in tears! 🙂

  2. Liz says:

    I’m at work and just read this and am trying to keep the tears from messing up my makeup. You just expressed the same feelings every mother has and it brought me to tears. Cherish this time. They are so darn sweet! I actually remember when I was about five having the same conversation with my mom. I told her I wanted to die first so I’d never live a day without her!

    • edelspot says:

      I remember being little and not wanting to do sleepovers b/c I was afraid something would happen to my parents. Amazing that those fears are so universal. Guess that is what happens when you love like a little kid! 🙂

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