I've spent a lot of time trying to mend my broken heart.
I've spent a lot of energy trying to make myself whole.
I've mourned my dead, figurative and literal.
I'm working on forgiving myself all my shortcomings.
I cry tears lately over my younger son. Lots of reasons. Mostly because his brother is the bigger, louder, more obvious presence. Energy spent there is energy I didn't spend on younger.
Forever, I thought he didn't need me. He did, but in ways it wasn't obvious. I can list in my head all the times I came up short for him. I found myself in tears so many times this past week, driving past places where I had a visual in my head where my failures of him took place.
This week we cooked together. We made muffins together a little while ago. While I was on a teleconference, he came over and left this for me.
And I can't stop crying, because this is what grace looks like. He gave me a piece of what was his, because he loves me, and because that's what he does.
And then I think that in all the wrongs I've done, I have done something indisputably right.
