A glance at a mother's memories of her son when he was a boy. |
MOTHER LOVE Tonight, I saw a shock of wavy hair escape unruly from beneath a baseball cap and bounce defiantly on suntanned skin exposed by rolled up sleeves. The sound of laughter floated through the gathering dusk, and once again I heard the childish noise that long ago had ceased to fall upon my ears. I saw a boy, my son. Now, a child no more, a man who stands alone, yet not alone. A mother's arms no longer shelter him from harm but hold the memory tenderly as if in some unfathomed way the failures of the past can be repaired. And failing this, I breathed a prayer that other arms encircling him would guard protect and love my son with strength and gentle care. |