Magic and heroes

by Hilla Duka

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I’ve just finished our bedtime routine. The kids all tucked up in their beds, with kisses for each lovely boy, me telling them I love them, to sleep well, and I’ll see them in the morning. I’ve read the story we’re reading for bed time right now, it’s non stop magic and little boy-heroes and happy endings. Milo’s sleeping on my arm, and I hear the sound of Jacob and Jonathan breathing, deeper, slower, telling me they’re falling asleep as well.

 

I stop reading, mark the page by the standard non-library-friendly dog ear, and put it away. I turn to face my little Milo, my face close to his. I look at his lovely long lashes as they grace his cheeks and flutter as he dreams. I feel his breath on my face as he exhales. His heart beats fast into my sick breast, and I feel my own respond. It aches acutely as I feel the loveliness of his being so close to me. For a minute, I think I will surely explode from these feelings. The love, the gratitude, so strong in my whole body. I made these boys, and they’re so beautiful, so lovely as people, and smart and funny to the boot. Such grace, so much gratefulness.

 

I slip out of Milos bed, turn to look at the lot of them - asleep, peaceful, dreaming dreams of adventures and fairy tales with wonderful endings. I quickly slide out of their room, before the sound of my crying can disturb them. Into the kitchen I go, and with a cup of tea, I let go and let the tears fall freely. How can they be forced to go through what lies ahead? How could I ever let go?


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