Thankful.

I am always amazed at how incredibly beautiful my children appear when they are sleeping.  The softly glowing nightlights cast shadows on their faces and they sleep, deeply, beautifully, peacefully.

Last night, I held William’s face in my hands as he slept, kissed his forehead and stroked his hair.  It smelled just the same as it did seven years ago.  It was just as soft and blonde as it was then, with a gossamer, angelic glow about it–fitting in some ways, ironic in others. 

My boy is here.  I can hug him, and run my finger down the bridge of his nose as he sleeps.  I can ruffle his hair and kiss his forehead and I can hear his raspy little voice at night as he drifts off to sleep.  And when he wakes in the morning, I can see the hair on the back of his head–half of it bobbing up and down with the rhythym of his gait, and half of it smooshed awkwardly to the side where his head lay on the pillow.   

Last night I wondered how close I came to losing him forever, seven years ago.

I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept, and wondered of what he was dreaming. 

I would walk through fire for moments like this…the moments I can gaze on him while he dreams of little boy dreams, while he sleeps, under warm covers, with my hands on his face, with him wrapped around my heart.

tuesdays unwrapped at cats

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Thankful.

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