I went to work last night and had the pleasure of caring for a sweet nine year old boy. He is very dependent on his mother...that's what I heard in report at least. I had to giggle a little and say, "Well, he's nine years old!" I walked into his room and he cried, saying he missed his mother. I smiled and assured him that his mother would be back in the morning, but for tonight it was Daddy, him, and me...and we were going to have a fabulous night together. He was hesitant. Golly gosh, I would be too; after all, he was put through the ringer with an intubation, severe decline in status, surprise extubation, and one diagnosis after another that will require him to move and stretch harder than ever to obtain a state of health again.
But, for the night, I treated him like a 9 year old boy. I told him about how I have a son who's almost 8 years old at home. He said, "But I'm nine!" I replied, "Yes, and there is a big difference there huh?!", validating his sweet ego! He then asked, with tears pouring down him cheeks, "Does he miss you?" I explained, in detail, the ten hugs I received from him before I left the house to go to work. He smiled, knowing that I understood....or my son understood...his heartache.
Hats off to my boys...all of them. When all is said and done, they bring a smile to my face. They love me for who I am, and I for them. With such tender years in my grasp, I hope I can....above all things in this season of life...show my family the deep love I have for them. I hope they understand my shortcomings, as they are many.
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