The Day the Counselor Cried

It was a hectic Monday, and after taking Bear to a very lengthy appointment, I pulled into a drive-thru to grab lunch before our end of the year pool party. I was already weepy from missing my Bella-girl who has been spending the week in Georgia with her grandparents on an amazing cousin adventure (more on that in another post). The drive-thru worker couldn’t understand me because my voice was so hoarse. I repeated myself over and over and over… four times before we got the order right. Then when I pulled up to pay, the cashier couldn’t understand my response to her question and charged me to the wrong order. It was all very frustrating (and they were all very kind).

As I pulled away, a tear trickled down my cheek. Bear, always my compassionate one, noticed.

“You okay, Mom?” he asked.

I sighed. “I am.” I wiped my face. “I really am okay. I’m just frustrated. I miss my voice. I hate what cancer has stolen, and some days it just hits harder than others. I’m so sick of sounding like a squeaky mouse.” I laughed softly, then I sighed again and we kept driving.

Then I felt it. A hand on my right shoulder and a gentle squeeze. No words were said, but volumes were spoken.

This boy. This dear, dear boy.

He has had a rough year all around. We’ve been testing him for a reading disability and thankfully, when I met with his counselor on Thursday, we learned he doesn’t have one! We are all so thankful. She helped me understand where and just what his struggles are, gave us recommendations for how to move forward with his reading and processing issues and she asked how much he talks about my cancer. We talked for a bit and I shared this story, and this woman who hardly knows me, broke down and cried… for me, for him.

“Bear is a gift, you know.” she said. “He really is an amazing boy, and he is going to make someone a wonderful husband one day.”

Yes.

He is.

Such a gift.

“Mom?” he asked in February, “If I meet my goal for grades this semester, can I dye a purple streak in my hair?” To which I answered immediately, “Child, if you meet that goal, you can do whatever the heck you want with your hair.” Because, y’all, he worked his tail off often doing three hours or more of homework a night because processing is so very, very difficult for him.

So today… my boy. My boy who notices the small things, and hugs at just the right time, and is gentle and kind and silly and going to make an amazing husband one day (after all, he has the best of examples to follow), got to do this to his hair.

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Stars, y’all, I love him beyond words!

One response to “The Day the Counselor Cried”

  1. melissa w moslow Avatar
    melissa w moslow

    Good story.
    Great hair!

    Like

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