, , , ,

butterfly handUsed to be when he was five
we’d walk the two miles
into the nearest town over
to the post office.

I remember my impatience
as a new mother when
he’d lag behind to look
at a big butterfly
on a rose bush
in someone’s yard,
seeing only the magic
a child can see.

Often, I’ve wondered if
my lack of parenting skills
would scar the soul
of that beautiful boy.

But yesterday he tended me
with care as I hurled a cup of
hot chocolate all over
the bathroom walls (after
he opened the window,
of course, and murmured
something about The Exorcist).

He drove me to the clinic
where he nearly passed out
watching them take my blood
(even though he has a degree
in criminal justice and tained
as a CSI). And finding my
temp extremely high,
hurried me back home and
finally to the ER.
He even went so far as
to loose his dinner afterward
with “sympathy nausea.”

This morning he drove me
to pick up prescriptions I
couldn’t get last night.
And when we came out
of the store, I couldn’t
help but notice on the
way to the car how
it’s him who is walking
a few steps ahead of me
these days, but always
looking back to make
sure I’m lagging along.
Patient and watchful.

How often have I wished
I could go back and
watch those butterflies
with that curious, little boy…

We’re both a little older now,
but maybe we’ll have time
for those butterflies even yet.
Perhaps it’s not too late
for him to show me
that special magic.

Actually, come to think of it,
I see it every day in him.