I put Sullivan, my five-year-old, to bed and he asks me to lay down with him for a few mintues, and so I do. We talk about his day and about the frisbee he tossed across the kitchen floor at precisely the moment I walked into the room. It slid under my foot and I went flying. This was followed by admonitions from Big Sister and Daddy about not bringing outside toys inside the house.
I hold Sully in my arms and I tell him I knew the frisbee was an accident and that I must have looked pretty funny all splayed out on the kitchen floor. He assures me that I did. Then, laying there in the quiet he says quite out of the blue that he knows who my daddy is. I say who, and he says Grandpa, and he says I want to pray for him.
He knows that my father is sick, but what he does not know is that tonight, I especially miss him. And, that tonight, while waiting for Big Sister to get out of her tumbling class, I prayed alone in my car, under the lamplight and blaring music of Sonic, that his pain would end.
So, Sully prays, God be with Grandpa because he is old, and after that he says amen, and I say thank you Jesus and thank you God. Then Sully says you forgot the Holy Spirit so I thank the Holy Spirit, too.
I run my fingers through Sully’s sandy hair and he kisses my palm and holds it to his cheek. I say thank you God for giving me such a massive (as in magnanimous, larger-than-life) boy to love and Sully says thank you God for giving me my mommy, she’s just the mommy I needed.
And I never knew a little boy could say something so beautiful. The Holy Spirit, whom I’d momentarily shined came inspiring gifts just the same, and I’m left to ponder what it means to be just the mommy Sully needed.
I mean, really, I’m not completely inadequate?
And, so reassured that my being his mother is not some random occurrence in the cosmos, I pray that God will make me all that I need to be because I cannot and will not let this kid down.