In soft whispered voices

30/Jun/2014

Sitting on the edge of the bed of my seven year old he whispers to me, “I’m writing a book about a Koala and a bear. You know that bear that made us have a lockdown at school? Well, that baby bear and the koala have a story and I’m writing it. You would identify with the Koala, Mommy. It’s a traveling Koala.”

“Oh, I’d like that story, Bud.”

“Yea, maybe you stay for a minute and rub my back?”

“Ok, I can stay another minute and rub your back.”

“Wait, you can’t leave yet. I’m not asleep. Maybe you go downstairs and do five minutes of work and then you come back and check on me? Then you can do the laundry. But five minutes of work, ok?”

“Ok, Bud. Five minutes and I’ll check on you.”

You won’t be awake when we go in again. You won’t see us peering over your sleeping face and smile softly to ourselves. You won’t see us kiss your cheek or whisper “I love you” in your ear. But what you will do, which still amazes me, is somehow whisper, “I love you, too,” in your sleepy stupor.

Some of my favorite memories are happening this moment.

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