letters and lattes

A Mother’s Day Reflection

My son looks at a photo of three smiling faces and asks, “where was I?” The image is incomplete, he feels lost, when he was our missing piece. “You were still a dream,” I tell him. He smiles in reply, satisfied. 

This dream is real, it has fingers and limbs, a mind its own, a big heart and kind eyes. It takes me back. Crimson the end of dreams, the two week wait. The cycle repeats. Angry prayers and relenting, surrender and acceptance all before his cries broke through and now - This dream of mine hugs me tight and runs off, time to play, his boundless energy declares. More than a dream, an answered prayer, a realised vision laid long ahead of the waiting. 

These answered prayers chase each other around the house, laugh, cry, scream. They play and share secrets, fight and demand, demonstrate their wills of iron. These answered prayers of mine hold my hands, warm fingers much too big. They wake me in the morning, cold feet under blankets, warm breath on my face, kiss on my cheek, say “I love you.”

I treasure the moment, the life I’m living once felt so far away. Here, in the answered prayers. Gratitude etched on my heart, my prayers now are thanksgiving and praise. Nothing is perfect, there is no such thing, but I cannot forget, this was all once, just a dream.