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| photo from myptsd.com |
In the last year, my family has faced battles that I couldn't imagine. I've done what I can to shelter him from the worst of what we've endured. While I know we cannot shelter him forever, I also know that a seven year old should only have to shoulder so much burden, and he certainly shouldn't have to shoulder the burdens of adults.
In the midst of our pain, our sorrow, and our trials, my son continues to be a shining light. His sweet innocence breaks through all of those heavy worries to provide a breath of fresh air and peace in the midst of our storms. The best part?
He doesn't even realize he does it.
There have been days when I think the soul-crushing weight of the world has become more than I can handle. I'm trying to tie the knot in the end of my rope but hanging on still seems impossible. And then I pick up my son from his nana's house, drive home, and carry him to bed (an increasingly difficult request, to be sure).
As I lay him in bed and say goodnight, I am struck silent with prayer. Prayer for his protection. Prayer for his comfort. Prayer that I will continue to be the mom he needs.
And each night, as I get to his door, he lifts his head and asks the same question:
"One more hug?"
And each night, the response is the same:
"Of course Mouse. You know you can always have as many 'one more hugs' as you want."
On Black Friday, Mouse turns 7.
7 years of fun.
7 years of laughs.
7 years of cries.
7 years of hugs.
And, as I will turn to walk out his door, it'll be my turn to ask for just one more.
