Godspeed

  He never did learn to crawl. It wasn't fast enough for him. He rolled. He would spy the place he wanted to go, then lay down and roll to it with unerring accuracy.          His first word was not Mama, or Dada...no, something much more exotic for my boy - his favorite character in all of his many books....Big Bird.     He did not walk, he danced on his toes. If he got a two step head start, I could not catch him.  Every surface was a drum.   Every thought a song.  
   At the age of two, he started doing this really funny thing. If he thought that you were sick, or sad, or just out of whack, he would come up to you and look deep into your eyes. He would  take his little stubby fingers, and reach into that shaggy mop of black hair for a magic, invisible substance...he would then sprinkle it all over your head with a flourish. He called it Fee betters (feel betters), and oddly enough, you always did.....feel better.
      At the age of four, he begged me to paint a jungle in his room, full of the animals he loved the best - zebras and giraffes, lions and monkeys....I had never so much as sketched an animal before, but over the course of a couple of weeks, his room was transformed by a four wall mural.

     His bedtime prayers could rival the most eloquent southern preacher....long and specific, inclusive and imaginative - full of love for others and delivered with an absolute assurance that he was heard.
    He liked to snuggle with his Mama long after his contemporaries had given up such babyish indulgences....he has allowed me to hug him publicly for all of his 23 years - even at 13, the age at which the aliens come and snatch your sweet little boy and replace him with something moody and foreign. (They bring them back, along about the age of 14)
     At the onset of the driving years, he was a good sport as I called out the door, "text me when you get there" - and, out of his kind consideration for my feelings, he almost always remembered to do so.
    Recently, he sat at the side of my hospital bed - late into the night, and early in the morning - going so far as to sneak his crowd of friends into the ICU close to midnight, bringing with them laughter and love (and reprimands from the night nurse).
     Since my strokes, I have relied on him far more than I should, but I have been oh so grateful for the time it has afforded us - when he has been my driver and my shepherd.
            Tomorrow, in the blink of an eye, he will be off. He will get his two step head start, and I will not be able to catch him.
   At feeding time, when he was an infant, I would use those quiet, sacred moments to pray over that precious baby....Lord, help him grow strong and healthy....give him a loving heart....do not use him for war, but for peace.....over and over again, I would pray these things.
   And so, tomorrow, the journey begins, as the Lord will use him for Peace - not war... perhaps, I should have mentioned to the Almighty that He did not have to be quite so literal in His interpretation of my prayers......the PEACE CORPS? AFRICA?
       I know one day I will see the humor in that, but for now, in the wee hours of the morning, I am left with the remembrances of the boy who became a man. A man in whom I take such pride....for whom I have such love....a man/boy that I will miss, and worry about and pray for every minute of every day....
     This song woke me up this morning at 3 - I imagine it will be the soundtrack in my mind for the next 27 months....the inimitable Dixie Chicks......."God hears Amen wherever you are, and I love you. Godspeed little man...sweet dreams little man...oh my love will fly to you each night on angel wings...Godspeed....Sweet Dreams....."