i carefully and ever so quietly let the doorknob shift in my fingers.
Wilder is ready to go down for his morning nap and Andrew is still attempting to sleep and fight off his cold.
as i begin to sway, the ceiling fan blades accompany my coaxing and Wilder’s eyes begin to easily close.
it is such a peaceful and quiet Sunday morning and I try to stretch out every inch of it before the world wakes up.
much as i always do when the world is quiet my mind moves to Brave. I often imagine what the moment would be like should he be here with us.
today, I have him tucked in his daddy’s arms lying in our bed while I rock Wilder. i dream of our family all together and crowded perfectly in this small bedroom.
my family. my loves. my boys.
i let myself pretend for just a moment they are all here and the world is right and that none of us are still waiting for glory.
but the wood floor shifts beneath my feet and my heart reminds me that we are not all here together in this room living life as a family, we are separated.
i move strategically towards the bassinet to lay Wilder down, i am aware that my arms never want to put him down. these arms summon me to hold him while he sleeps, to hold this precious one. these arms, my arms are thirsty for lost hours, lost years.
no happy endings yet, just two beautiful boys who love me,
and teach me,
and remind me that i have been gifted by them both,
and beckon me to hold on to hope,
hope for something more than this life.