I sometimes just stare at Darius, my beautiful son. I stare at him in wonder. I must have been a pretty good person for God to give me such a glorious gift.
And then I knock on wood or spit or do something equally superstitious for fear that if I relish too long in the joy of my son that I am somehow increasing my odds of having him ripped from my arms.
Because in this world, not all children grow up. And it breaks my heart. And it makes me so afraid for my own child that I can barely let him out of my sight. As if somehow I have the power to make sure that he's always okay.
We make our kids wear bike helmets to keep their heads safe. We buy organic food to keep their bodies healthy. We baby-proof our homes so little fingers don't poke electric sockets. We do so much to keep them safe. Keep them protected. Keep them alive.
But there is so much we cannot control. There's suppose to be a natural order. Parents are suppose to leave this world before their children. Parents are suppose to be able to see their children grow up and get married and have children of their own and get that "Now that I'm a parent, I am so appreciate for my mom" phone call.
I have no words of comfort for families who lose a child. Everything I can think of sounds cliche or trite or really really lame. It's my worst fear come true.
So I'll sit here speechless, crying tears, and greiving for a child I didn't know, a family I never met. Because I think all mothers can imagine the pain. We fear it everything we kiss our darling children.
Hold you babies close tonight.
This post was written after I heard the devasting news the unexpected death of Maddie Spohr, the toddler of a fellow blogger. Please consider making a donation to the March of Dimes in honor of Maddie and all the other children who leave this world too soon.
