I am staring at a picture that my mom emailed to me last night from Eric’s trip to the beach. It shows my youngest son laying on his stomach in a tidepool, looking very tan and happy as he smiled at the camera with sand crusting his hair,like frosting on a cupcake. Next to him is his new friend, Haven. Haven is slightly older than him with dark hair and a sweetly round face. She is also laying in the tidepool, but instead of smiling at the camera, she is intently focused on my son’s face. I smiled as I remembered exactly how that felt to look at a boy like that. Haven lives in North Carolina and Eric lives here in Georgia, so it may be just the summer of 2009 that they spend together, but it is a picture I will keep for him to remind him of Haven.
My older son had his heart broken a few weeks ago for the first time. I felt like when it happened to me, and it did many times, my world went darker and no one could possibly have been sadder than I was. But I was wrong. When it happens to your child, the heart that walks around outside of your own body, it is worse. It is harder because you used to be able to make their hurts better with a kiss or an ice cream cone or a neosporin covered band-aid. But that isn’t enough to soothe this kind of pain, only time can do that. I will keep the pictures of Adam and his first love for him to remember too, when he is ready.
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