It’s happened.
He’s talking to me. We have conversations. Though there is still much clarification happening in the form of yes/no questions, he is putting words together, nouns and verbs, to have meaning and make things happen. “Oo dat?” means “what’s that?” “New” means “again.” “Same time,” means, “Let’s go down the slide together.”
There are still some sounds off the table: F, G, V, L, K. Few of the words with these letters will get an attempt- he knows it would be too difficult to wrap his lips around them, but he surprises me every day.
“Boo payt”: “Blue paint.” Yesterday he said “Donut” and last week, “Moon.” His mom really loves the moon, so that one was only a matter of time.
It’s been a few months since I’ve recorded his progress in some official manner as this. But that is an eternity in the reality of a two-and-a-half-year-old (and that of his parents). Time is only moving faster as it goes by, and I grapple helplessly, trying to find some way to make sense of all this before he wakes up from his nap and the chaotic, blissful ride continues.
I am learning almost as much as he is. The dichotomy of the long moments before sleep takes him, compared to when he finally closes his eyes, is accurately represented by the Taoist yin-yang. Chaos, order. To keep calm and remember my gratitude; this is the paramount goal. Nothing good comes from being flustered or frustrated. Life is a gift, no matter how difficult it can feel. To witness his growth and development multiplies the weight and meaning of that gift infinitely.
Suddenly, jarringly, these moments become memories. The reality of today is the nostalgic aching beauty of tomorrow. And now, that nostalgia exists inside me. I knew it would happen. But it surprised me nonetheless to find myself tearing up at old videos and photos. “The good old days” are still upon us. I mustn’t forget. But it doesn’t take away from the tinge of sadness that arises out of the growing knowledge that this won’t last forever. I know it too well now. Every day is a new journey, an adventure that requires all mental faculties to be online in order to be fully present. Otherwise I’ll miss something. He doesn’t have the choice. He has memories, and anticipation, too, though as far as I can tell, if either brings him any emotion less than elation he quickly and efficiently puts it out of his mind. I admire him for this. He teaches me more than I teach him, maybe.
What I do know is the weight that my presence has in his life. His love for me is uninhibited by skepticism or the need to protect himself. He relies on me more than on a “feed me” level. It is physically emotional. We all need love and tender care. And thus, I rely on him. I’d be okay without him only if he’d never entered my life. To be removed from such an energy after these years we’ve spent together would inevitably change me, would leave a gaping, unfillable void. I’ve always prayed. More and more, those prayers have taken on a whole new form of emphatic intensity.
Nature, I explain to him, is complex, but simply amazing. It is beautiful even if we don’t quite understand it. It moves in cycles, like everything else. The more we understand it, the more beautiful it gets. Some concepts are still out of reach for both of us. Photosynthesis, for example. I’ve planted the idea somewhere in his mind that we live on a giant rock. But what I do think he understands in some capacity is this: “Nature brought you to me.” And I am grateful beyond anything I’ve ever felt. “Thank you sun, moon, stars. Thank you trees, earth, cows, cornfields, and all people of the earth. Everything is connected by nature.” If anything had been different, Things might not be the way they are right now, and I can’t bare to think about what my life might have been like had it gone any other way. I am in love as I’ve never understood it before. Love, true love, is understanding. It is a process. It never stops growing, boundlessly. Infinite. It is a mountain whose summit will never be reached, though every stop along the way provides a more breathtaking view than the last. We will enjoy the view every day. And we will continue to climb, together; continue to strive for the top, because the mountain inherently asks it of us. In every moment, there is a peace available to and for us, if only we decide to recognize it. And in every moment, we are constantly being urged upward, toward heaven.
