Timothy Michael

A glance back at a piece I wrote when my , now 15 year old, son was very young.

My mind could not envision spun gold until at last my eyes could see its likeness woven through his hair as I held my son to my breast.  The scent of heaven held no place in my memory until my nostrils were filled with his scent.  The perfume of baby soaps and lotions mingled with those of a mother’s milk and a damp diaper, referred to by others as a stench, became a secret bouquet that I will hold forever in my heart.  I long to breathe that scent deep within me, to feel that baby fine hair tickling my nose.  Those days have passed just as his babyhood has.

Although he is now statuesque in his slumber, I recall a day, nearly three years ago when a nurse handed me a wiggling, wide-eyed newborn.  I saw his fingers; they were the chubbiest fingers that I had ever seen.   There were ten of them and ten toes as well.

As I watch him sleep, he suckles the index finger of one hand and twists the golden mop atop his head with the other.  Many a night have passed that I climb into bed to find his finger stuck, twisted in his hair.  I come to the rescue and release his finger from its snare.  Instinctively, without deliberation, his finger again twists his wispy mane.  He rolls toward me, without opening his eyes, without removing his finger from his hair or his mouth, and a barely, detectable, “Wuv you Mom.”, escapes him and embraces me.  My heart is held captive by this little boy, my son.

He snuggles into me and he fits just right.  I think to  myself, “He fit in the yesterdays as an  infant.  He fits today as a boy and he will fit the tomorrows no matter his size because it’s not our bodies that fit together so precisely but our souls that interlock like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

I see the sleeping face before me, yet my eyes behold many faces, many expressions.  I see the face smile.  I see the scar on his lower lip and remember the day he fell on the stairs, the rushed trip to the emergency room, and the three stitches.   I felt every stitch that they stitched as surely as he did.  I held his hand to gather the strength that I would need to witness the mending of my child.  In turn, he held my hand to obtain the courage that he would require.  When they buried the needle into the bloodied wound, I felt it’s pick and the sting of the novocain.  When another needle entered, exited, and reentered his flesh, I felt it’s tugging.  I felt the threads pulling oddly through the numbness.  We were frightened.

Though his eyes are closed, I know their blue-gray color and marvel at how they resemble the hue of an incoming storm.  I know their ability to form and release tears that are heavy enough to crush my heart.  I know their laughter, the laughter of his soul and mine.  Through these eyes I witness his joy, his sorrow and his very being.

I can see his face pouting when he doesn’t get his way.  His lower lip protrudes.  He scowls.  With hands on his hips, he stomps his foot.  His eyes search the floor.  Then they meet mine to see how effective he is being.  I see pouting that can move a mother to tears one moment and laughter the next.

Timothy sleeps.  I look into a baby face that now belongs to  a boy.  It foretells a day when I will look into the face of a boy who is a boy no more but, all to soon, a man.

Reviews

[Silvia - Scribo, Ergo S..]

Timeless miracle of life, eternal mother-child emotions ....

"Timothy sleeps. I look into a baby face that now belongs to a boy. It foretells a day when I will look into the face of a boy who is a boy no more but, all to soon, a man."

Beautiful, touching. xxx

[TL Boehm]

Good Lord this is eloquent writing. I find myself biting my lip to hold back the sobbing. That mix of love and heartache is tangible in this one. We cling to moments...the things that stay with us...(that fresh baby scent..lol) Tangled hair. Simple spoken words. Oh I hope you continue this. It just opens up my heart and washes all the angst out. Thank you.

[Michael Cronauer]

Wow; I cannot fully expressed what this brought out in me. The point of view is from a mother, but it expresses feelings that transcend all people; I remember having such moments with young cousins, brothers and sisters, and others. Some of those moments were short... others lasted longer. Now, as the father of a two year old boy who I am madly in love with, I feel this writing in my soul.

Having read the other reviews, I know I am not alone. Stellar, absolutely!

[BrightEyes]

My little boy is now fourteen...and becoming a man so quickly it hurts my heart one second...and makes me so proud the next. He is now taller than me and likes to joke around that I can't "push him around any more". I tell him..."oh yeah? you think?" and we laugh. Still, I miss those times when he was young and would cuddle up with me on the sofa while I read and he watched his Power Rangers. ahhh, you have taken me back there with this work. Very nice indeed!

laura :)

[Emily B]

I can understand this very well. Your whole life changes when you become a mother. We are gifted with so many fine qualities to go with the child: courage, patience, endurance, strength. You know. I enjoyed your memories.