My Kindergartner

Walking into the classrooms at my kids' school, the kindergarten one is my favorite by far. Everything about those kids gets to me. They pierce my heart making with swell big with happy as I soak in their captivating youthful allure. They are so very entertaining to watch, I can't help but grin. Their faces, their small hands, their miniture clothes, their smiles, tiny baby teeth intermixed with holes awaiting adult sized ones, mingled with teeth far too big for their little mouths. Caught in the middle, between toddlerhood and school aged kids who no longer need a classroom nap time to get through the day, you can still see the baby they once were in the face of a kindergartner. They sometimes cry. They might even wet their pants from time to time. They may have yet to let go of sucking their thumb. They tell funny stories and laugh at their own jokes and still think their parents hung the moon, hugging them unabashedly, without regard for what their peers might think, when dropped off in the morning. Babies.

Ever since that horrible, disturbing, tragic day, I can not stop thinking about my kindergartner, about how much I love him and how deeply grateful I am for his life, for continued presence in mine.

My kindergartner tells me how much he loves his mommy every single day. He writes me notes and hides them throughout the house for me to find. He hugs me tightly, kisses my cheek. I hold him close, breathing in his innocence. His wants are still so basic, so simple, refreshingly easy to meet.

He is bright and shiny and energetic and fun loving and happy and full of sweetness and love and life and enthusiasm. He is a fearless little jumping bean, bounding from here to there. He makes friends every place he goes. His smile warms a room. It melts my heart. This wonderful, just-for-a-moment age, it's truly magical.

Those parents who lost their babies are forever on my mind. I can not fathom their pain.

As we bake Christmas cookies today, I will think of them. As I tuck him in at night, I think of them. As I wake in the morning and see him padding down the hallway, wiping his eyes still thick with sleepiness, I think of them. As I pray for his protection, I think of them. As I remember all the moments I take for granted, my most blessed lot I hastily fail to recognize in the day to day routine that evolves into eventually encapsulating our entire lives, I think of them.

May the God of our eternal hope and peace and comfort draw near to them.

And may I not forget to remember the sacredness of my gifts.