beautiful boy.

Dear Bergen,

I love how you cuddle with me.

You push into my side with such fierce determination that I think you would allow yourself to be absorbed into my very skin if that was somehow possible.

I love how you do nearly every thing with abandonment.

Even eating chocolate ice cream.

You are beautiful to me.

And you are mine.

(not forever.)

For now.

And I am sorry that there are days that I squander this gift.

Days that my tone is sharp.

Days that my hands push you to the side and I ask you to find another place to stand.

Days that I disregard your legitimate concerns because I have an agenda and I have a schedule and your question simply doesn’t fit in that blocked out, pieced together time slot.

I just get this one time to be your mother.

Just one year to have six-year-old Bergen as my boy.

I’ve misplaced so many days already.

Let’s slow down –

shall we, son?

I want to hold your hand today.

I want to scratch your back.

I want to look into your eyes when you ask me a question.

I love you.

And I want you to be certain of that fact.

One of the songs your daddy and I have been singing to you since you were a baby is John Lennon’s “Beautiful Boy”.

You, my son, are just one of my daily six reminders that these years of youth are fleeting.

“Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.”