chichiguita's Journal

This morning after I loaded the dishwasher and fed the dog, I wandered into my son's room.  His bed was all messed up because he sleeps as if he is wrestling with someone.  I couldn't see him--he was all the way under the covers.  But I could hear him breathe. 

How many times have I stood near his sleeping frame and listened for his breath?  It is a mother's way.  Hypnotic.  melodic. reassuring. sweet. 

Today we will tell him the news that will break his heart and threaten to end his childhood. 

It seems the so cruel.  Unspeakable. 

I want to lay myself over him to protect him from the storm. 

all I can do is stand a little longer at his door and listen to the sound of his innocence.