Will’s face appeared in my doorway as I was pulling myself into the conscious world. “Mommy,” he said, “will you make me pancakes?” I told him I needed to put in my contacts first. He followed me into the bathroom and, without warning, I picked up where I’d left off the night before. Tears sprung into my eyes. I had that same thought I always have. What is wrong with me? Why am I crying?” I turned away so he wouldn’t see me but at that moment an audible cry escaped.
“Mom,” he said so gently, “Why are you crying?” I shook my head, knowing that if I tried to talk it would come out as a sob. I walked out of the bathroom and lowered my body back onto the bed. He climbed up next to me. Tears ran down the sides of my face toward my ears. Will placed a hand on my leg and just sat there. I was struck by his tenderness.
“It’s okay to cry, Mom.” Even as I wrestled internally with trying to figure out why I was crying and simultaneously trying to make it stop, I realized that my five-year-old, who has the emotional maturity of toddler, had somehow surpassed me in both empathy and his understanding of the therapy process. I said nothing and he whispered, “Just let it out. It’s okay.” Who even is this kid and what did he do with the hyperactive one who usually lives here?
“What are you crying about, Mom?” he asked again.
By this point I was so astounded by his compassion that I looked at him through my tears and said, “I don’t really know, Buddy. A lot of things, I think. I’m worried about Matthew…” my voice trailed off.
“Yeah,” he said, his tiny little hand continuing to rub my leg. He paused for a few seconds and said with enthusiasm, “But he’ll get it fixed and then he’ll be twice as fast as he already is! That’ll be cool.” I couldn’t help but laugh through my tears.
“We will get it fixed. You’re right. He’ll be okay.” I waited and then said, “I also miss Kate. I miss her the most in January.”
“I miss her, too,” he said. I know he does. He tells me all the time. Then he smiled and said, “But we do get to go to heaven to see her someday and that will be great!”
“You’re right again,” I say. I think there are a dozen more little things causing my tears but he’s two for two with his answers so I decide not to burden him with any more of them.
“Mom, are you better now?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Junior Therapist,” I say as I pull him into my body for a quick hug.
“Okay, good. Now it’s time for pancakes!”
