“Remember to breathe.”
“One step at a time.”
“You’re not alone, Mase.”
He makes fun of me for having greying hair and an old phone. When I serve him asparagus with his grilled salmon, he gripes. He attempts to persuade me to allow him to tint his hair green.
And I pause what I’m doing and assist him when he approaches me in the kitchen.
Not because I know everything. However, because he inquired. because he has enough faith in me to inquire. And that is more important than any solution.
For not recognizing it sooner, I’ve forgiven myself. I now realize that there is no peace in stillness. Respect doesn’t always mean that distance.
Love can be loud at times. It occasionally shows up without invitation. It occasionally says, “I know you didn’t call, but I’m here anyhow.”
Freedom wasn’t necessary for Mason. He needed to be saved. And I will always be glad that I grabbed him while he was falling.
Because mothers do that. We jump right in. We cling tightly. And until the breathing evens out, the eyes open, and the light returns, we hold on.
