he was so tall. And handsome. He had caught up to, if not surpassed, his father in height. His hair was still red, although a little darker, and the boyish frame had filled out; his shoulders were broad. The boyish softness in his features had been replaced by a more solid jaw line and the face of an adult. A smattering of youthful freckles remained.
I had to look up at him.
"Mom, will you help me?"
And in an instant, he was 12 again. And I was standing next to him - albeit a shorter, tween version - helping him comb his hair.
Those glimpses into the future don't happen often for me - task-oriented by nature, schooling, household chores, the never ending to-do's - and if I am being honest, time-
wasting-saving technology - occupy the moments, hours, and days, with little pause for introspection. Even the quiet of a sleeping household is filled with mindlessness rather than just being.
But, today - in spite of the rush to get out the door - for a moment, time had flown, and I had to blink away the tears, for I had hair to comb.
No comments:
Post a Comment