Yesterday. 4:59 pm. My 8 year old starts yelling from our front hallway.
Him: “Mom! Mom! Mom! You gotta come see this!”
Me: “What? What is it?”
Him: “Just come here!”
Me: “Okay, hang on a second…”
Him: “No! You gotta hurry! Look at this!”
Me: “Okay, okay…here I come….what is it?”
Him: “Look, Mom! A heart!”
Sure enough. The one small space on our front porch not covered by snow looked like somebody stamped a heart on it. Clearly not enough to impress our dog, Daisy, but the rest of us were thrilled with this little beauty sighting. I was so thrilled to find this was what my big guy couldn’t wait to share with me.
This sweet boy of mine, whose own heart moved to the other side of his body when he entered the world, doesn’t even realize the significance of me watching him celebrating a tiny heart. He doesn’t understand why I get a little choked up. It’s moments like this when I wish I could go back to that spinning hospital room, hold that scared mama’s hand and whisper in her ear: “He’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. Someday, it will all be okay and he will be a happy, healthy boy with the biggest, kindest heart.” I couldn’t tell her that back then, so sometimes I have to whisper it to myself now, reminding my own brave heart how far we’ve come.