Yes, he is still wearing his costume

Last night our little 3 1/2 year old A. woke up around 10 pm. I heard him at the top of the stairs, “Mama? Mama?” I ran upstairs and he folded into my arms. (And yes, he is still wearing his halloween costume. Read post here!).

“What’s wrong, little honey?” I asked, gently holding him against my chest as we sat on the top of the stairs. I have to admit, I was tired and hoping it wasn’t anything big.

A.: “Mom,” beginning to whimper…

Me: “Ohhhh, what is it honey?”  I drew him close to me.

And then A. began to cry. As I held him he asked me, “What’s after being a boy?”

Me: “Well, you become a teenager, then a young adult, then a man, then an old man.”  I was confused.  I didn’t know where this was coming from.

A.: “Welllll, what’s after that mom? What’s after being an old man?”

I stopped. I sat there in the darkness holding my son wondering what was concerning him, wondering how to respond to such a profound question without sounding trite, wanting to soothe his worries, wanting to find the right truthful words for a toddler. I wondered, “Is he still asleep? Is he dreaming? Did he have a nightmare and is now fully awake?!” I was also exhausted – my brain shuts off around 8 pm — I have problems finding the right words during the day let alone after my brain has “powered down.”

So I held him close and said, “Well, you can be a dad, then maybe a grandpa”

A.: “Mom, I don’t want to be an old man!” <now sobbing>.

Me: “Oh honey. That’s a long, long, long time from now.”

A. : “then my SHOES, my favorite shoes, won’t fit.”

Me: : “Oh Love, I hear you. You love your shoes.” I held him closer to me and stroked his wet little cheeks. “My Love, there will be many fun shoes in your life.”

A.: “And my backpack won’t fit!”

I held him. Eventually we moved into his bed.  I laid down next to him and held him and softly sang to him. I gave up my attachment to getting anything done before I headed off to bed. I felt A.’s breathing begin to slow down and deepen. His eyes were closing. I may have dozed off myself.

Then A. rolled over and said, “Mom, when I’m a teenager grandpa won’t be around!!!” And he began to sob again.

My heart sank. I laid there frozen for a moment. I got light-headed. How did this child go in to the darkest corners of my heart and pull out the deepest fear there — my parents dying? How did I pass on to him this fear that has been with me since I could remember?

Since I could consciously collect and recall memories I have been terrified of my parents dying. I can remember being on a trip with my dad when I saw my dad putting his shirt on as we got ready for the day, saw the gray hairs on his chest and began to sob, “YOU. ARE. DYING!!!!!!!!” (He was all about thirty-something then!).

A guilt beyond what I have ever felt before came over me — what have I passed on to my child? What fears has he inherited? Oh he is only three! I do NOT want him to be so weighed down with such worry like me! What ELSE have I passed on to him?!

My parents with C. (a lioness!) - look at the way my dad looks at C. I hope this look of cherishing -- of tenderly regarding -- is one I've inherited and will "pass on" to my children.

I continued to hold him and reassure him, caressing his cheeks, running my fingers through his hair. I remembered the book The Kissing Hand.

I took his little hand to my lips and kissed it. Then put his hand to his cheek and said to him, “You will always have our love – mine, daddy’s, your sister’s, papas’ (plural), grandma’s, nana’s – whether near or far.”

And A. said: “Oh. Kind of like when papa is in Florida?”

Me: “Yes, just like when he is in Florida.”

And soon he was asleep. I kissed his little forehead and went downstairs to tell Brian.

Whether still in a dream-like state or consciously awake through it all, A.’s words and fear and trembling still sit with me. The nurses at the hospital didn’t mix up this mom and baby match. This surely is my son. And I feeeeeeel for him. He takes on the vibes and needs and worries of the world, just like his mom. He senses it all, catches on to it all, feels it all – instantly. My god, I don’t want him to be so weighed-down! I want his heart to be care-free and light.  Again, the primal desire of a mother sweeps over me and I want to protect him, save him from any suffering.  The ache of knowing I will not be there when he is an old man and my heart nearly explodes with grief and someone else will need to care for him makes my heart ache.

And then I become grateful for his little sister. Barely eight months old, I know already she has a clarity about her, a discerning clarity…a wisdom about what to carry emotionally, mystically…and what to put down. She will teach her big brother this. And he will teach her how to embrace this world and jump into it with fire and passion.

I remind myself that it’s quite possible my children will inherit not only my fears but also my loves — of people, poetry, and loving this world.  Not only my shortcomings and insecurities but also the ways I am powerfully confident.  Not only my anxiety but also my grounded calm.  Not only my darkness but also my tenacious sense of hope that keeps me on the journey of drawing others into their own light.

Ohhhh the things that keep me up at night — the mystical connections between souls. The fears I carry in my own heart and body.  The light of Hope that ultimately soothes our worries and wraps us in warmth and love.