Eleven

Dear Jeffrey,

Happy Birthday, my sweet son. Mama is a few days late on this letter– it’s been hectic trying to get everything ready for school to begin, and let’s face it, the whole summer has been one of upheaval and chaos. I’m stealing some quiet sleeping hours to write, and can hear you and your brother and sister softly breathing above me as my fingers fly over the keys.

Son, you make your mama proud. When you were born, all copper hair and furrowed eyebrows, I knew you had a noble heart— and time after time, as you’ve grown, you have made me proud. Now, on the eve of beginning middle school, I’m fighting with my own worries and fears, which are always greater at night, as you well know. Yet I remind myself of the strength of character you have already shown- you make good choices for a growing boy. You pick good friends. You are kind and thoughtful of others. You watch out for those smaller and younger than you, and you have a profound sense of fairness and take great umbrage if you feel it’s been trodden upon.

Thank you for being my son. Thank you for shouldering a harder burden than many boys twice your age, and doing it with love, kindness and grace. Life the past few years has been harder than I wish or had planned, but the lesson for all of us was to make the best of things- even hard things. Thank you for still being a kid enough to crawl in bed next to me some mornings and chatter away about games and toys and what you’re hungry for— usually bacon and waffles. Thank you for turning to me when you are sad and need my shoulder. Thank you for trusting me with your heart, your ideas, your inspiration, and your dreams.

Where once you were small and needed my hand to guide you, today you can stand toe to toe and look me in the eye, even though we usually dissolve into a fit of giggles when you do. It still disconcerts both of us that we’re near the same size. It won’t be long before I have to look up to you, my son… Actually, the truth is, my dear, honest, goofy, sincere boy, I already do.

Happy Birthday, Jeffrey. Mama loves you.

4 thoughts on “Eleven

  1. I was busy and thought I wouldn’t bother reading this entry as it appeared to be, “just a little birthday note”. I’m so glad I did! A keeper, to be sure! Have you read “Gilead” by Marilynn Robinson? An aging father writes this young son. It feels like a prayer. Your dear post reminded me of Gilead. Heart felt, a little gut wrenching, and lovely. Again . . . like a prayer for your dear eldest son who has joined you in your delightful, soulful journey. Love to all and happy eleventh!

  2. Thank you all. I hope so. I feel so paltry when I sit to write letters to my children– they’ve machete’d their way through the overgrown tangle of jungle that was me to turn me into a person worth knowing, and I can never capture how much I love them.

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