I Sat Listening

I don't get a whole lot of time with my kids these days. I consider myself lucky if I get any time. I remember being in my twenties and spending quality time with my parents wasn't a high priority (sorry Mom). I just remember thinking how much I wanted to go out, get out, get on with it. My kids are not unique in their want to be out of our house or away from our view. Luckily, my kids try hard not to do anything overt that may hurt my feelings in this regard and I try hard to respect the fact that they are now people, full grown people who have the capability of making their own decisions whether I agree or not. It's a mutual understanding that allows us all to grow. I have no idea where we would be as a family if we did not have this. I suppose we would be like many parents who got shut out.
The other day my son and I were talking, just talking about his life, his concerns, his thoughts, his future. He isn't a huge talker, but when he has the opportunity, he does find me and we sit and chat. He does come to me occasionally for advice. As my child he has heard most of my advice already in one form or another, so he does not always seek me out. "Trust me, I know practically every word you have ever said to me by heart," the boy laughing told me. I smiled, grinning ear to ear because even when I know he does the exact opposite of what I think is best my voice remains in his head.
I sat looking at my son, his face covered in beard, his hair short, his voice so much deeper than when he was younger even just a few years ago. I sat and looked into the face of the man who faced me looking me square in my eyes, unafraid, unapologetic, just being himself, comfortable in his own skin in front of me. I listened as he talked. He is intelligent, compassionate and kind. He is sarcastic, even caustic sometimes, not having had his edges worn down yet by time or experience. He makes me laugh as he uses silly faces and voices to explain or tell a story. He teases me relentlessly about nearly everything, including the pink fuzzy robe I wear to keep me warm.
I like his face, not so much because it resembles my own, but rather because of the new configuration of his father and me together and the angles it forms. I like his blue eyes and how they flash a deep sea blue when he is speaking passionately about something. I like the way the edges of his mouth curl up when he says something funny. His hands never stop for even a moment from activity when he talks, as he fidgets with whatever is handy at the time. His face, his frame is thin, pale, and sinewy. My boy is often guarded, weighing out his words, tempering his speech, careful not to divulge too much to the wrong person. He may appear as though he does not trust you, well, he probably doesn't. He was altered by his father's death in 1997 and although the pain has subsided some, he still bears the scar.
Later that day he came home from work and asked to talk again. We did, on the back patio this time, just hanging out, laughing, being silly, playing for a few minutes before he went to bed.
My son always says "I love you, Mom." He always kisses the top of my head before he leaves or when he comes home again. He always hugs me every day like clockwork. I always smile when he does those things. I remember everyday he is doing his level best to be a good man. Those are our "always" things.
Yesterday, I sat and listened to my boy, my son. As I listened to every word he had to say, laughed at every joke, I heard the faint sound of the ticking clock in the background reminding me that these moments for us are numbered. Soon, very soon, he will be moving out and moving on and we won't have the convenience of these little talks.
Yesterday, I sat and listened and while I did, my heart beat began it's own message, thumping out, "I love this boy, I love this boy, I love this boy."