There are times I regret I can’t any longer get into bed with my kids.
Even if they didn’t think it was creepy, they’re just too tall to hold.
Alex, standing up, was impossible for me to hold in a way that could
reassure him, and me, that I was the one with the answers, I was the one
enveloping him, protecting him from the world. Because he had become
the one enveloping me.
As hard as he could hug, and he hugged hard and long, he had become
the taller one, the harder one. What used to be my hugs to him, saying,
“I love you and will always be here for you,” had become his hugs to me.
His way of saying “I love you, we don’t always agree, but we sure love
each other, and I’ll see you soon and hug you like this again.”