Where the Stars Shine
June 16, 2015
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I could lie and claim great operatic genius with my renderings of traditional lullabies when my son sits on my lap only moments before sleep. In close embrace, his tired body leaning against my chest in perfect stillness. And, I sing as though I possess great efficacy while my son listens. I utter the final words, and he signs, “More,” with his tired, enthusiastic hands; who am I to argue? With slight seam another round of low, quiet keyed Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Another request for encore at its close, and I comply. If only this could continue all night, or until my son slips off into his dreams noted by a light snore. A third request met with my sign for the experience to conclude, but even in his drifting state, he shakes his head, “No.” We sit precious seconds before I lift him to his crib.
He rolls onto his belly, arms and knees tucked beneath, half-heartedly listening to his nightly story. Deep breaths as I cross the room and close the door. I linger with my hand on the knob, unclear of what action I await permission. Perhaps the gentle sting of transition, but I walk softly to my marriage bed hoping to preserve the moment for just a few more precious seconds. I sigh entering our bedroom; how I love the little being who derives engrossed, simple pleasure from the minutia I offer.