If Only...

... we could learn to appreciate the people in our lives like we do once we've lost them.

If you're anything like the rest of us, the news I posted in yesterday's entry* immediately drove you to thoughts about your own loved ones. Perhaps, like me, your first thoughts were of your own small children... and how many accidents befall them every day, and how you never expect to need more than a wet washcloth, a "kissit" or an ice pack to make the world right again... and how utterly impossible it is to imagine your child being there with you and, in the next instant, being forever gone.

*(Today I learned that the circumstances surrounding the death of my friend's nephew may or may not be as they were first relayed to my friend and me. Since I obviously don't know the entire story -- and in fact, I never may -- I've opted not to post a retraction but also not to blog any more on the situation. Please don't let that keep you from praying for the grieving family, as their need for it has surely not diminished.)

The past two days have been some of the richest I've known with my son -- it's as though the rest were merely pencil sketches and these were deep and vivid images, saturated with color and music and life. He's been lavishing me with hugs, kisses and infectious laughter as though he understood why I needed more of them right now. Today he spent two and a half hours standing at the sink, playing with the bottle brush in the water and washing the same half-dozen dishes over and over to keep me company while I cleaned in the kitchen. Declining a Muppet video and even a snack break (!), he stayed at my side as I relentlessly scrubbed the stove's burner plates, forcing them to relinquish the past two years' worth of cooking souvenirs. We sang a lot. We high-fived a lot. We changed his sopping wet clothes a couple times when the dishes fought back. We had a blast.

As delighted as I was with today, what grieves me tonight is knowing the part of me that took him for granted until two days ago will eventually do so again. It isn't something I can prevent -- familiarity, after all, breeds more familiarity even when it doesn't breed contempt -- but I intend to wring every last drop from this presently heightened sense of appreciation I have for him. I hope to tell him with my words and my actions the same thing I've told him since the day in his sixth week in utero that I thought I was having a miscarriage: "I know I wasn't promised tomorrow with you, but I want you to know I'm thankful for every day I have you with me."