There are a lot of people that I’d like to have dinner with. They include family, friends, and many of you. Tina Fey, who would make me laugh endlessly, especially if she did dummy Sarah Palin for me. Ellen. Jack. Sir Anthony. Steve Jobs. Martin Luther King. But there is one person that I want to dine with above all others.

My son.

Yeah, yeah, I dine with him every single night and there are moments when I wish I could escape. When I wish that I could briefly run away from chicken nuggets and pizza on the floor.

I want to dine with my son when he is an old man. I want to hear about his life.

The life that he lived after me.

I am almost 45. Tucker is only almost four. I hope and I pray that I will dine with my baby when he is my age. But, I do not know that I will. The reality is that there will be a day when I am not able to have dinner with my son. It is probable that I will not dine with him when he is an old man.

To my old man son,

I love you. I love you more than all of the grains of sand on every beach, in every sandbox, on every ocean floor and in every dune. More than anything. More than everything. Did you know that? Did you feel that even after I was gone?

How are your words? Was language a lifetime struggle or one that you overcame? Did you find a fulfilling career? Did you become an accountant because counting is easier than words? An artist? An astronaut? A computer genius? Did you end up herding grocery carts and if so, did you pretend that they were tractors, readying them for a much-needed tractor-wash? Whatever you chose, I am proud of you. So proud.

Did you understand that when I made you cry in an attempt to help you understand that “hands to self” matters that I was doing it for you? Did you know that every single time I made you work for it, for your words, for your everything…did you know? Did you know that I was doing it for you? I was. I am. I am doing it for you now and I’ll be doing it for you tomorrow.

I want to hear that you fell in love, and that you were loved back. Did you have children?

Who did you become?

Reassure me that you had a fulfilling life after I was no longer in it. Reassure me that life was messy and real and gratifying and rewarding and wonderful and mostly beautiful.

I want to hear that our years together were long and close. Most of all, I want to know that you lived a life full of light.

To my future old man son, who is also my today baby.

You are my forever favorite. I love you. Now. Then. All of the tomorrows.

Mom

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post using the sentence “If I could have dinner with anyone in history, it would be…”

Your lovely hosts:

Janine’s Confessions of a Mommyaholic (Twitter, Facebook)

Can I get another bottle of whine? (Twitter, Facebook)

Mommy, for Real (Twitter, Facebook)

Dawn’s Disaster (Twitter, Facebook)



