This day twenty one years ago I left home the mother of one. Many hours later my son was delivered. Today he is many miles from home hopefully celebrating his birthday.
As I sit here alone and remember so many wonderful moments I feel a tinge of sadness. So many memories, so many parts of my life, now past tense. My boy is well on his way to becoming a young man, but for me he will always be ‘my wee small boy’.
In memory of all that he was I would like to repost something I wrote two years ago, the night he left for college. Today as I sit here many of those same thoughts echo in my mind.
To those of you struggling with little ones, lack of sleep and frustration I promise it will pass, and some day you too will be sharing precious memories of the life you have lived.
Goodbye for now my wee small boy.
When each of my children were born,
I gave them a gift.
A huge amount of thought went into this gift,
and I can honestly say it meant the world to me.
But to this day not one of my children,
is even remotely interested in it.
It was a song.
Not a song I myself had written,
but one I loved and seem to speak to me about my child.
A while ago my eldest daughter,
left home for the Summer to work in the United States.
I then shared with you all in a post,
my song for my daughter.
The song was called “Feet of a dancer”,
and it was my choice for her,
years before she was ever born.
Today my only son leaves for college.
We have travelled a long road together,
as he had a severe form of dyslexia,
making school very difficult.
He battled on regardless,
and has got the college course he wanted.
Of course I am thrilled,
and he is overjoyed.
But I would be lying if I were to say,
that I am not lonely.
I sit here tonight and a million memories flood my mind.
The boy who took months to learn the letter “S”.
Each day we would say,
“What letter is that?”,
and with a huge smile he would say,
“That is Annies apple”.
The six year old boy who was going to school with only one shoe on.
When I sent him under the stairs to find the other one,
he shouted out,
“Yea mum, I found it”,
only to quickly shout loudly,
“Oh whoops sorry mum, thats the one I’m wearing!”.
I see the small boy who ran into playschool many days,
only to meet one of the fathers coming out.
This father had dwarfism.
My small boy would shout happily,
“Hello small Daddy”,
as I would meet the fathers smiling eyes,
and die a little.
I saw my small boy grow tall and lean,
his voice changed,
and from outside the room,
I would be convinced my husband had male company,
as I struggled to believe my “small boy” now spoke like a man.
We have laughed many days together,
and had a share of rows.
But even though my eyes can clearly see,
the fine strong young man he has become,
to me he will always be,
“my wee small boy”.
So tonight as I sit here slightly wounded,
feeling his lack of presence in every room,
my mind returns to an early morning,
almost nineteen years ago.
A morning he woke at 5am,
when the clocks had gone back making it 4am.
I sat in my kitchen holding my baby in my arms,
and feeling so tired and fed up.
I turned on the radio for company,
and Mary Black sang to just us two her haunting song,
“My wonder child”.
It was a truly magical moment,
and I have never forgotten it.
As I listen tonight to her voice and those lyrics,
“You’re my wonder child, my dream come true”,
I think to myself,
“My wee small” boy you have truly lived up to your song.
Off you go now and enjoy your life.
You are everything I could have ever wanted and more.
Always know you are much loved.
If you have time… listen to this.
If you have small children… hold them close and enjoy.
If you have older children…. listen and remember.
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