Less than 24 hours to go. So far, we’ve covered cars, sweets and soccer. It’s hard to nail down the last one. He’s turned out to be a fine young man, with a bright mind. He’s going to major in history. One step at a time.
He always loved stories about heroes. The books we’d read at bedtime were about brave boys, sometimes with sharp swords, who rescued friends and protected grandmothers. He’d request special stories to be made up on the spot about him, slaying dragons, fighting tigers, flying jets, always with the coolest weapons, ready to save the day.
He has soft spot for senior citizens, which is unusual for his age group. When he was a wee fella, my husband’s grandmother was still living, so he had a great-grandmother. She fell (horribly) in front of him at a very young age (around 4 years old, I think) and eventually died of complications from her injuries. He told me then that if he’d been bigger he could have saved her. He’s brought it up several times, just in conversation. It usually takes me by surprise and I have to excuse myself for a while for a quick cry. The last time was just a few years ago. It’s touching in that he already understands that being a hero sometimes involves tenderness and sacrifice.
I’m hanging in there, but it’s getting harder to keep it together.