It’s quite late, really, and I’m sure you’re already sleeping.
Worn out, tired, the good kind
that comes from chasing your three boys
and all the memory making you do together.
And so I will tiptoe down the hall
and just leave this outside your door
much as I did when you were new to us,
sleeping in the room with the door cracked
and I’d peep in to see your eyes closed
and watch you breathe.
Standing here in the dark
I wonder where the years have gone
from the moment I first saw your eyes so blue,
unblinking as we memorized each other’s hearts.
You, so tiny and frail,
with the strength of a little giant
have become a rock for me–
a safe place to lean when the journey
and too much to bear alone.
Your laughter echoes in my heart,
stirring up memories from days before it was cracked
by the pain of losing the ones we love–
memories of the days when we took long walks looking for rocks,
holding hands and waving at folks in cars
as they passed by
like the years,
way too fast.
I was walking at sunset this evening,
watching the shadows get longer,
and your words from this afternoon came to me
and I smiled.
It is good to be known
and to know that someone
has my heart surrounded, holding the
hounds of darkness and hurt at bay.
Your voice holds a thousand memories,
and I smile at the memory of when I used to chase
the dark away for you.
Hours spent up late talking, whispering long after
all the others had fallen asleep.
The wee hours are sometimes the best.
And so are the wee ones
who grow up
and become the greatest of people.
for dawn will stir your boys
and you will be off again.
But for now,