Night-Night, Sweet Boy

Ever since Sam's accident last year, I look at life entirely differently. I don't take things for granted; I am beyond grateful for the gifts in my life; I worry that things could change in an instant; I fear loss and tragedy. Tonight, as I was putting Banner to bed, I had this horrible thought that made me want to document the little things I do with my son. I thought about where I could keep such an important piece of information, and then I thought maybe my blog would be sufficient... so, here I go:

When I was younger, my mom always tucked us in at night, and as she closed the bedroom door, she would say pretty much the same things to us, although not always in the exact same order: "Good night. I love you. Sweet dreams. See you in the morning." If she didn't say these words to us, we did to her. The "see you in the morning" part was always last. I loved this - that we had a routine and meant every word of what we said. I knew I was loved, I knew I was wished sweet things, I knew it would be a good night at home with mom, and most importantly, I knew she'd be there for me in the morning; it was only a short time that I had to miss her.

On my wedding day, I gave my mom a gift with a card. The card included 26 cents that we typically exchange with each other to symbolize the "penny for your thoughts, quarter for the call, and all your Momma's love" from a country song that was popular the year I graduated from high school. The gift was an engraved double picture frame. One picture was my bridal portrait; the other picture was of me around 7 years old dressed as a bride. The engraved words: I will always be your little girl. And, this is true, because the last line of the card that accompanied the gift read, "Good night. I love you. Sweet dreams. I'll see you in the morning."

I remember these words ringing in my ear from so many nights being tucked in tight by my loving mother. They still ring today, and I can still see my mom shutting my bedroom door with the glow of the den lights behind her silhouette. I felt so safe, loved, and happy. And, every night now, as I rock my baby to sleep, I whisper these (almost) exact words in his ear. He seems to wait for them before falling asleep. I usually rock him for just a few minutes, then I slowly lean towards his ear, grazing his check with mine so softly, and then I whisper so lightly in his ear: "Night-night, sweet boy. I love you. Sweet dreams. I'll see you in the morning." Maybe it's my voice he likes, maybe it's the closeness of my face, maybe it's the warmth of my breath, or the familiar sound of these words since he was born. Who knows... all that matters is that I mean every word of what I'm saying to him. I love him so much and wish him only the best of dreams. I will miss him while he sleeps, and if he misses me, he knows we can see each other in the morning. It's a prayer of sorts, too, praying that he has a beautiful dream to keep him company and that he wakes up each morning!

I cry sometimes when I'm rocking him... okay, I cry almost nightly. The tears have gotten fewer, but they're always there resting on my eyelids. I remember how fleeting this time is with him. I remember how fleeting my time was as a child with MY mom rocking ME. I remember how fragile life is, and I pray I can continue to be the one to whisper these words into his ear each night. Every night, these familiar words bring me back home - to my childhood and to my own child. I feel like it's a piece of his Grandma whispering to him, too.  I feel like it makes a complete circle, and I want him to feel safe, loved, and happy like I felt as a kid. And, if he does, then I've given MY greatest gift the greatest gift: Night-night, sweet boy. I love you. Sweet dreams. I'll see you in the morning.