Some memories come easily, like a movie reel running through my mind. Just snippets . . . bits and pieces here and there . . . of life with my little boy.
Other memories are vague and dreamlike or don’t come at all; and I struggle to remember the feel of his cheek or the peach-fuzzy forehead of the babe at my breast.
He was my first-born. I held him close, hoping to protect him always, and basked in his shy smile. It was like sunlight. Funny how the mind plays tricks, sending a flood of feelings as if it all happened yesterday.
No longer a baby, my son is a man.
For his birthday, he sent me a song he wrote. It’s just the intro, he said, but he thought I would like the violins and cello.
I do.
Copyright © 2013 Patricia Petro • All rights reserved.