Hey Eleven (cool,
cautious tone),
Welcome.
I won’t
fight you - I've heard that that never works - but people are saying that you're the new 13 so I just wanted to point out a few things.
So far,
this path has been so good. He came out perfect: gentle (!), and wild (!) and kind (!)…magnificent.
Like a healer, he cauterized my wounds – bleeding so long – as if to say “Don’t worry Mom, I’m here. Let
my love graft us together, let my need of you salve your grieving; let me be
the light to guide you to your real self.”
Eleven, I am my real self because of him!
And Eleven, he delights us everyday.
Never takes
us for granted. Still laughs willingly at our jokes; understands the nuances in
an uncanny-too-soon, adult way. He is an open heart. Tells us each thing he’s
thinking as if to keep even the smallest secret would widen the space between
us. And he lets us know he couldn’t bear that space.
Eleven, he sits
with us every single night, so close to my side that I can’t tell where I end
and he begins. Pure joy for me I tell you. “Are we watching our show Mom?” he asks.
I don’t remember the last time he retreated to his room or was too busy for us.
And when we
fail him Eleven?…Often, on my part it feels. His forgiveness is steady and predictable
as the sun's rise, deliberate but new colours every time.
He is beautiful. Breathtaking, dear Eleven.
Please don’t
change him too much. We see that he has a hard time getting out of bed in the
morning, this boy who used to spring out of bed. That's fine. We understand that he needs to argue with the decisions we make. That's okay. We see that he's watching all those badly-acted tween shows. We're taking that in stride.
We can handle all of this Eleven.
But
please Eleven, if you can manage it, leave this boy's heart intact. Because his heart? So so good.
Love the Mom.
