I have kissed my son a thousand times, and held him close. I will kiss his face a million more before he goes, before the days come that words cannot bridge, and the distance between us grows.
I will kiss his face a million times before he goes.
Will I always be able to bring him rest as I do now? Will I always bring him joy?
I have watched him sleeping in his bed and seen our lives before us. Must my gentle son be broken on the faults I find in him? Must my beautiful, sensitive boy be hurt by my genes making me the man who hurt me when I was a beautiful, sensitive boy?
Am I strong enough to be tender, or weak, like all those before me and all those who follow me if I am not strong enough to be as tender as I have the courage in me to be?