The mother danced with her son, and all was right and good.
She was my first and only love, the best of who I am and can be. He was my precious boy, lean and beautiful and vital. It was the day of my birth, my celebration, and I reveled in the joy of a moment that surpassed time itself to hang like glowing stars in the heavens. They danced and spun, and not even the finest meal had filled me so fully and satisfied me so completely.
Our lives are defined by our experiences. It had not been so long ago that fear had been our taskmaster, and death had sent his henchmen forth to threaten our happiness. For the mother, so tiny a speck, so insignificant a spot, so deadly. We walked through days in stunned silence, guided by those who knew best, not understanding how close we had come to grievous loss until the threat was over. She would live, but life had changed. We were no longer immortal, immune from the pains this world can bring. When would death strike again? Were we being given a second chance, or an opportunity to say goodbye? Life was suddenly tenuous.
That experience only made the next more real. Another speck, this time on the boy. We tried to be strong. We could not. I fell to my knees, weeping, begging God to spare him. Thankfully, the boy was strong. He has always been strong. He was very young but perceptive; he knew something was terribly wrong. I swelled with pride as he faced everything with bravery. In the end, he was going to be fine. Again, we had been given a second chance.
There are moments in life that live, forever, in our hearts. Moments when God Himself comes down, shining, to shine a spotlight on the precious gifts that He has given. Grab those moments, cherish them, hold onto them. They will be sustenance when times are hard, validation when times are good. I do not fear death. I am thankful for the time I have with those I love. I am filled.
The mother still dances with the boy. As long as I live, they will step and whirl, in rhythm to my heart’s beat. And my soul will be well.