My youngest son, Quinn, was born when I was 38. My pregnancy was considered “premium” and I had obstetrician appointments so frequently towards the end of my 40 weeks, that I joked I was going to pitch a tent in the waiting room to eliminate the driving back and forth. Maybe the humor I was able to express, along with the sheer determination I exerted in having that third child when my body was uncooperative, laid the foundation for his personality because this child is a strong and funny little person. And he just delights me to no end.
Yesterday was a typical day of life with Quinn. We discussed his eventual children – 4, two girls, two boys. The girls will be named Buttercup (his blond) and Princess (she’ll have dark hair). He shared his strengths with me, which are his ability to tan, making people laugh, playing games (board and electronic) and his tolerance for pain. The latter was a fairly recent discovery and involved a finger, an infected splinter, a needle and some gross pus. Tough as nails, I tell you.
We discussed important things like Muggles and tornadoes and healthy foods. He danced to the Supremes while wearing the cutest Levi cutoffs I’ve ever seen and cuddled during movie time in his Sponge Bob jammies, equally animated in motion and rest. Alive.
This morning I read this beautifully post written by my friend, Mark McGuire, about a nine-year old boy who died this week from an untreatable cancer. This child, Myles, was a student in the district where I teach and I was aware of the situation from an emotionally safe distance. I am incredibly impressed with the grace exhibited by his family, and so very proud of the support lent by my colleagues during his final months. Children shouldn’t die before their parents and my heart aches for a mom who will never know what her son’s future children will look like.
I think it’s time for Quinn and me to watch the 7th movie in the Harry Potter series. I hope my boy interrupts the movie with questions and observations and shares his thoughts and hopes with me. Believe me, I won’t mind at all.
DelSo 
That has to be the worst thing that can happen to a person. Losing their child. Hearing about stuff like that makes you appreciate a little more, love a little harder and feel a little sadder about how fragile it all is and we all are.
The respect you show for your kids is really inspiring. The love, attention and care you showed for Quinn on this one day is more than some people get in a lifetime. This week alone, I witnessed the heartbreak of an adult man who was treated again with cold, undeserved indifference from his mother. Parents like you give me hope for the world.
Thank you. That is a really lovely thing for you to say. My boys are fabulous people and it is a privilege to see them grow.
This was a lovely post. I do love the scope of your heart.