My son, my son, my son. Entered the world into water and sank. Held in my new mama arms as I begged him not to cry. Sleepy baby. After that first parting after birth I never let him go again. Spent two years of his life strapped to my body in one way or another, then found his legs, learned to run.
My son. The boy who faces demons and comes out still fighting. That spirit unwavering in the face of darkness. The magnificent will. Those clenched fists and the tilt of his chin and his sheer determination and then oh... the softening. The cuddling. The sweetness and structure and beloved habits. The fading orange kitty clutched to his chest.
Until he goes running off again.
