My youngest son has as it seems, recovered from his first broken heart. Being that much in love at the tender age of eighteen is a tenuous situation.
He cried . Wailed. Great body wrenching sobs. I held him for hours on the couch, in the dark. Two, three nights in a row. I came home from work and found him on the floor in his bedroom. Slumped against his dresser, head fallen forward on his chest. I called his name. I could not see him moving. No rise and fall of his chest. I could not rush to him I could not move. My feet were surely nailed to the floor, my mind willing them to move. Lowering myself to my knees I moved very gently out of the hallway and into the bedroom. Two fingers touched his cheek.
My most profound fear still lives in a place of my heart.
Yesterday my son bought his new love a pair of shoes for Valentine's Day and he is cooking her dinner tonight. (A little advice not to overcook the shrimp via a cell phone text). He left me a message on the refrigerator with my grandson's alphabet magnets. "I love you"
It took two and a half years.
I navigate the mixture of emotions carefully..don't give telltale signs (or words) lest I tip him off that I are terrified that the relationship most likely won't last a lifetime.......
