A Spring of Joy

It’s the dimples that get me every time. That head ducks down and he smiles at me and melts my heart with his mischievousness and his sensitivity. It has been that way since I first held him in my arms six years ago. This heart melting.

He has such an easy way about him. He’s always been that way,too, coming into our world so quietly, I didn’t even know I was in labor, and I never felt the pain of contractions before I got my epidural and he quieted the moment he was in my arms. He accepted life, crying only when something was needed. He spoke early and well, using full sentences by 18 months old, but only speaking what was necessary, then moving on to laugh at the world around him in perfect delight.

He is still that way, although the world has turned out harsher for him than he had anticipated. Wearing his heart on his sleeve doesn’t help. He just wants to be happy and play.

And when he struggles, he struggles visibly, looking for help in making decisions, knowing he’s making the wrong one, then turning to make it right. And when he hurts, he still finds a quiet comfort in the arms of his mommy or daddy.

Then he smiles with those dimples. And I melt.

And he asks for birthday presents like this, “I’d like a Lego Death Star and a Ben Kenobi action figure.” quiet pause, “Oh, and some more food for Audrey to have in her kitchen set because she likes it so much.”

What?!

What kid asks for presents for his sister for his birthday?

He is such a sweet boy, always will be.

My dear, imaginative, shy, creative, pensive, energetic, funny Bear.

Some days I get scared about time changing him and reality robbing him of his imagination and sensitivity.

Then I remember.

He’ll always have those dimples.

And no matter how he changes as he grows, he’ll always melt my heart.

Always.

And every time it melts, it grows back larger than it was before.

It is the only way to hold it all in.

All this love.

Happy birthday, Bear.