End of Day Thoughts

I am sitting at the end of our older son's bed as he tries to settle to sleep. He is nestled under quilts, wearing green, his favorite color since before he was a year old. He is in his safe zone. Here, I sit, and I see my little boy. I've done this a million times, it seems.

Oh, how he has grown over the years!

He was once an infant, ever awake and crying, with parents too fearful to wake him once he fell asleep in his bouncy seat. I would set the seat in the middle of the room where it wouldn't tip over. He looked so very little. And, although he was in the only spot where he would get any sleep at all, leaving him there felt so wrong.

He was once a young toddler, refusing to sleep in his crib. He would spend hours awake, calling out to us, playing with toys or smearing his feces. I put a tent over that crib hoping that the stage could last forever. I feared the day I could no longer contain him.

He was once a three-year-old, non-verbal, and still sleeping in his crib. I rocked in his room, sitting in the dark and crying for the near-future. How can I send this child to school? The Powers That Be insist that he should ride a bus to school in order to gain social interaction. How can I send. Helpless, non-verbal child off into the world? I couldn't imagine. Alone with my thoughts, I would sit and cry.

He was once a five-year-old, in an ill-fitting kindergarten classroom. The child that once smiled when he woke, started his day with a flat expression. My instinct was to keep him at home, but the Powers That Be told me that I couldn't. As I tried to lovingly send him to sleep each night during a tumultuous time, I sat, alone with my thoughts, and cried about sending my son into the Lion's Den each day.

He is now a nine-year-old, and many of his night consist of screaming in pain. He has many specialists, and I've tried every trick in the book, and still, I sit here helpless, unable to take the pain away.

Alone with my thoughts tonight, I think of all the transitions this room has taken during the lifetime of our young son. His needs remain constant as he grows. They just change a bit.

His head is nestled into his pillow, his green pjs wrapping him in comfort underneath his favorite sheets and quilts. To him, this very spot is the ultimate place of comfort. it is his favorite spot of the house. And, having me sit at the edge of the bed, is like having the cherry on top of that sundae. He is safe, warm and happy.

I can't help but wonder as I am drinking in the scene, will I be doing this when he is 40? Will he have an adult body inside some green pjs? Will he have facial hair? Will I be wrinkly and thick around the middle looking at my adult son holding his favorite crib toy in order to go to sleep?

I guess, the future is not mine to know right now. My job is to just get us there.