Heart on His Sleeve

Last night, I was reminded of how sensitive I used to be. No one had to say to me, "Remember how everything used to make you cry?" or anything like that. No, the memories came rushing back when Griffin and I had a bed-time conversation. It was then that I saw, first-hand, that my son is my sensitive heart made-over, and it brought tears to my eyes.

Griffin loves his Daddy. First and foremost, whatever Daddy is into, he wants to be a part of it. Now, don't get me wrong, he loves his Momma. But, Mom is good for hugs and kisses and words of encouragement. Dad is good for Man-Stuff, like repairing vehicles, mowin' the grass, fishin', you know things you get to do with tools or things that have moving parts. All things hypnotic to a young boy.

And, Daddy teaches Griffin good things like how to tie knots, and the proper way to hold a golf club, and how to trip without spilling your beer (well, he's not been taught that one yet, but you do learn by example, you know!)

Anyway, last night, Dan had to work late. He was actually helping his friend put in two new Air Conditioning units and wasn't going to get home until the wee hours of the morning.

So, I was getting the kids ready for bed. Wyatt was sound asleep in his crib. Grant had already been put to bed, but he continued to sneak out, sticking his fat little head around the corner, giggling, waiting for me to see him. Then, when we make eye-contact he squeals with delight running full-sprint into the living room letting you know he has escaped the dreaded N-word, Nigh-Nigh. That little one HATES going to bed!!! He just has to be where the action is, and obviously, his bed is not the place!

It was about the 28th time I had said, "go to bed Grant, you're tired, go to sleep." and had then begrudgingly forced myself out of the chair and chased the little guy back into his room. At that time, Griffin was just getting out of the shower.

Griffin: "Mom? Where's my towel?"
Me: "In there on the floor. Don't you see it?"
Griffin: "No, Mom. That's my Dad's towel."
Me: "No, Griffin. Not the one on the back of the door, the one on the floor."
Griffin: "Oh, got it."

Griffin comes into the living room all wet and hair sticking up in about half-a-dozen directions, "Mom. Where IS my Dad?"

Me: "Well, Griffin, he's still working."
Griffin looks at me all puzzled. You can tell he is wondering why is my Daddy still working? He's usually home by now.

Griffin: "Well, when is he going to be home?" At this point you can see the sadness creeping into his face. He's realized that he will not see his Daddy before he goes to sleep, and the thought of this, on this night, is just more than he can bear.

Me: "I'm not sure, honey. But, it will probably be late. You'll see him in the morning, though."

That sadness is now palpable between us and the air is thick with Griffin's gloom and worry. I know all too well the things he is thinking right now. I know all too well that feeling of things being out of balance and off-kilter enough that your mind wonders and worries relentlessly.... Where could he be? What could be happening? Is he alright? Has something happened to him? Will I ever get to see him again? To tell him that I love him and ask him will he wrestle with me, and ask him to carry me on his shoulders? If he were okay wouldn't I have heard from him by now?

Griffin: "Mom, I miss my Daddy!" and then, the fitful crying began. Heavy and hard sobs.

Me: "Griffin. I'm sorry baby. Daddy had to work late. He will be home tonight, but you will already be asleep. I know he will come in and kiss you goodnight, though. He always does."

Griffin: "But, Momma. I miss him. I never even got to give him a hug. I want Daddy to come home!" Now the crying isn't as heavy but louder and messier. Snot has now started to drip from his nose.

Me: "Baby, come here. I love you and Daddy loves you. Sometimes people just have to work late. But he will be home. I promise."

Pause, me listening to crying.

Me: "Do you want to call Daddy? And tell him goodnight?"

Griffin: "Yeah."

Phone in hand, I hit Hubby in my cell phone, and hand it to Griffin.

Griffin: "Hello, Daddy. I miss you! When are you coming home? I was worried about you."

Dan on the other end is saying things like, "Buddy, I miss you too." And, "Honey, I can't understand you, what are you saying? Calm down and talk to me." And, "I know. Daddy is working late, but I will be home tonight. I promise to kiss you goodnight when I get home. I love you."

Griffin hands me the phone.

Dan: "That was dirty."

Me: "No it wasn't. Your son just wanted to talk to you. He needed to know you were okay. Now he'll be fine. We love you. We'll see you in the morning."

Griffin hugged me tight after that call. I know talking to Dan feeling that even if he wasn't there with us, he was somewhere, and he was okay, was all he really needed. I know because he is me. I felt it when those brown eyes looked at me and asked where his Daddy was. I could see it in that face. That beautiful, innocent face that has never experienced loss, but who fears it still. Who has never known true pain, but worries that someday he will.

A sensitive soul who hurts when the children on TV don't have enough food to eat in their country and worries who will take care of them? And wonders why people would hurt other people on purpose, who could do that? And why do some people not have homes, can't they come live with us?

As I've aged, I've had to overcome my sensitivity. I've had to become less Utopian. It's horrible to know that evil lives out there in the world, and that you are anyone's sucker for just believing that what a person says is what a person will do. It's horrible to experience these realities. It's not fair that in going out into the world, it means we have to take off our rose-colored glasses. Why? Why does growing up mean we can no longer see the world with the eyes of a child?

I felt a great sense of loss seeing that tenderness in my son, and knowing that it is all but gone in myself.

Keep that sensitive soul, sweetheart. Don't let the world tell you you need to toughen-up. Worry about the welfare of others, son. Never stop caring. And know that it is always okay to cry, always. I hope no one ever tells you that boys don't cry because they do. And I love that about you little man. I love that your true and adoring love for people cannot be held back by any sort of foolish man-code. It's a silly made-up lie.

So, Griffin, go out into the world and feel it. Feel all of it. Hurt with others, feel joy and fear and worry. And don't let the world capitalize on your sensitivity. Know that it is your gift. Hold it dear, God gave it to you, don't lose it. One day you will do great things with that big heart of yours, baby. I just know it.