I’m stuck in the middle.  To my right is Fearless, passed out with his neck bent in a terribly awkward position.  To my left is a stranger with whom I am silently negotiating the arm rest, and she is winning … by a lot.

But we are headed North to see Joe’s family for thanksgiving and truth is there is so much to be thankful for.  This week, a friend of mine posted a picture on facebook and it has haunted me since.  I don’t have it in front of me now, but it is of a woman, presumably from Palestine over her badly wounded boy.  In the brief moment I saw it, it looked as if she was peacefully comforting him or at least that is what I choose to believe.

I immediately began to cry, I tear up just thinking about it.  Regardless of my beliefs on the Israel/Palestine conflict, this image is universal.  It’s about a mother and her son.  I deleted the picture from my stream; I couldn’t see it because it conjured so much sorrow.  I think of Doctors and Social Workers who deal with death and suffering on a daily basis and how they learn to detach and compartmentalize.  I used to be much better at that, but now I have children and I feel, I project, I empathize and in this case I hurt.

As soon as I was able to wipe my tears away, I went into my sons’ room where they were playing.  Fearless was very engaged and didn’t notice my kiss, Dreamer did and I asked if he wanted to cuddle with me.  At seven, this is still an appealing proposition.  We lay together for two minutes on his bed when he asked if he could read me a book.  I said yes, Fearless joined us and the three of us laid there reading book after book.  I did not want time to pass or the moment to finish.

I am not in control of my sons’ destiny.  I have no idea what can and will happen to them and all I can do is believe that God is taking them on their own journey.  Not this God, or that God, but the God that I can believe in.  The one I have grown to trust.  All I can do is teach them, mold them and pass on to them the things I deem important.  Their character, their nature and their experiences are shaping who they actually become.

Not to be gloomy, but I also don’t know how much time we have together.  I hope and pray that we have countless years and endless adventures but in truth, life can change in a second.  So this past week, thinking of that picture on my Facebook stream, and getting ready for thanksgiving, a patient and loving mother has emerged from within me.  I miss my boys when they are not with me and I hug and kiss them the moment I see them.  I haven’t taken them for granted, and their behavior has reflected this peace.  We have been in a honeymoon.  I love them passionately and care for them deeply for I know it’s a luxury to have them, to have them healthy, and to have them happy.  And if for some tragic reason I am that mom in the picture whose son is teetering between life and death, I will be able to gain comfort in the fact that I have lived with them, intensely, to the best of my ability, for as long as they have let me.

So in this airplane I am going to shut off my computer, adjust Fearless so he can rest on my lap, and revel in this moment.  The lady on my left can keep the armrest, I’ll keep the kid.