My lovely little Milo - not so little anymore, is turning six today, so obviously we have major reason for celebrating! He’s still not speaking clearly, and the baby curls still fall in lovely little ringlets around his shoulders and down his back. His amazingly long and curly eyelashes hit nearly upon his eyebrows, and when he smiles, my heart misses a beat. He’s funny and charming and impossibly headstrong, and clever and inventive as well. He’s at that stage where he’s still a bit of a small boy, and at the same time growing into a big boy with big ideas. I’m so unbelievably proud of him - of all my boys of course, but today is Milo’s day.
Yesterday would have been my grandmother’s birthday, she would have been 93 but passed away five years ago. I don’t mark her day of passing, but her birthday instead. I was very close to her, though I probably felt closer to her than she did to me - after all she had many other grandchildren, but my other grandparents were in Israel and I didn’t see them often or talk to them often. Being with grandmother was a refuge from everyday life. I loved the freedom of being with her, she just accepted me the way I was, and it was a simple and respectful togetherness - I accepted that there were things she wouldn’t talk to me about, and she did me the same turn. Instead, she taught me cooking, baking, sewing and crocheting. And while we worked, she told me little stories from her childhood, that became little treasures for me. I’d learnt not to ask myself, as there was no knowing what she wanted to share and not, but whenever she would share a small bit, I sat listening with rapt attention, savoring every word. I need to write those stories down for the kids for the future.
Even when I was quite young, I don’t think I could have been more than ten, my grandmother started talking about her impending death. Not in a morbid way at all, I think she was just trying to prepare me for a time when she wouldn’t be there. It was just small things, like going for a stroll in the spring and her wondering if she would be here to see next spring. After all, she’d already said goodbye to most of her siblings, so wondering would be natural I suppose. The last time we spoke before she died, she told me “It’s quite alright, I’m more than willing to go now”. When my kids went through the phase of worrying about death, that’s what I told them. “People go when it’s time for them to go - when they’re ready” I hope that’s true, because then I’ll be around for a long time. I’m not anywhere near ready to go, not any time soon! I want to raise my kids, see them grow up into teenagers and adolescents and grown ups, find their person and maybe have kids of their own. I want to grow old.
Today, I’m so thankful that I get to be here for Milo’s sixth birthday! I had my third treatment yesterday, so I don’t have tons of energy, but I’m here, and that’s enough. I can cuddle him up, pour kisses on him and touch is soft curls. I can tell him I love him and how proud I am of him, and I get the pleasure of seeing him opening his gifts, hopefully being delighted with them. I get to hear him play with his brothers. All of these things I’m grateful for. Six years ago, he was a healthy, sturdy and absolutely brand new person, and I did as all new parents do - counted his toes and fingers, touched his little button nose and his impossibly soft skin, stared into his blue eyes, thinking he was absolute perfection, and how lucky I was to get to be his mother. That’s what I’m thinking about today - actually what I think about most days now - how lucky I am to get to be their mother.