I can’t believe that you’re eight years old.
I have put off writing this post for over a month now, because it makes me cry every time. My baby, my first and only born, you are now eight years old. I wrote this letter to you on July 10, 2012 – less than one month before your birthday.
My Dearest Kaden,
Tonight, I had a meeting. You rode your bike and played with friends all night. When I came home, you and Tom were both asleep, so I started my editing.
And I heard a bang. You fell.
This is normal – you are a seven year old boy, about to turn eight in three weeks. You fall often, and you fall hard. You are rambunctious and ornery and a little crazy at times. But tonight, when you fell I ran to your room. I found you curled up, crying.
I asked if you fell, and you said “I always do something wrong.” I’m sure you were half asleep, but you were crying and all I wanted to do was hold you. I gathered you in my arms and rubbed your back while you cried, and told you “God made you exactly the way he wanted you, and you are a wonderful little boy.” I was so proud of myself for not crying, because holding you in my arms is such a rare occurrence anymore that it touched me, deeply. I asked you if you wanted me to sing to you, and you sniffled, wiped your nose, and whispered, “sure.”
I sang to you, your song. The song that I’ve been singing to you since you were born, my song that is specifically designated for you and no one else. The song that no one else is allowed to sing to you, it is just ours.
I told you I loved you more than anything in the world, you whispered “I love you too.”
And then, I cried. I laid there, rubbing your back, watching you move your pillowcase between your fingers, and just cried. You were back in dreamland, so I took the moment to cry and just hold you.
I’m crying writing this. When you went back to sleep, I realized that I wanted a picture of you sleeping, at almost eight years old. I have so many photos of you sleeping, at every age, but I wanted to remember this moment, right here, right now. So I did what any sane mother would do, I went and got my camera out of my purse. Because this is what my life is about. The small moments, in between the big things, that mean so much to me. The little things that make me feel like I can’t possibly love anymore, that I’m not capable. And then God sends me these little moments, when you fall out of bed – to remind me that not only am I capable, but he has blessed me with a son that stretches that capability every single day.
You are getting so big, so very, very big. You spend more time with your friends than you do with me anymore. I know this is natural, that you are going to have your own life, but dayum sometimes I miss you. I know that you will never realize how much I love you until you have children of your own, several years from now. Scratch that, like 20 or 30 years from now. But one day, you will hold your own child in your arms, and feel like your heart is going to explode. And I hope when that happens that you think of me, lying with you when you fell, singing your special song while you fall asleep. I hope that you think of that moment, and realize how I can never tell you how much I truly love you. I hope that you know that kind of love, and remember your own mommy, loving you that much.
I love you always, more than I can ever tell you,