Last night I received a gift.  I got to live a few moments of being Sean’s mom again.  I know it was a dream.  I very seldom have dreams where I see Sean.  I can remember less than a handful in the past 6 ½ years.   Each dream when I see my son is a gift.  Even if I dreamed of Sean every night, it would be a gift, but I might not be a functioning human being, if that were the case, as each dream is so emotional and carries a price.

In this particular dream, we were at an event at church.   It was an event for the children.   A bunch of younger boys were laying on the floor, listening to a story.  All of a sudden there was a tussle, and I looked down in the crowd of boys and saw my son Sean, who was only 7 or 8 in the dream.  He had just got wacked in the face, and his nose was bleeding.  He was trying valiantly not to cry.

While yelling at the boys to stop, and glaring at them, I reached down, grabbed Sean, comforted him with a hug, and started dealing with his bleeding nose.

In other words – I got to mother him.   For those few moments in time when I was dreaming, I got to be Sean’s mom once again.

Now it seems that all my children—are ages, where it isn’t simple to be a mom.  Gone are the days of hugs and kisses that solve almost every problem.   I don’t always know what to do.  I spend a lot of time praying and asking for wisdom, then coming to the conclusion that for most of my children, my role now is to just love and let go.   So much harder to do than it sounds.

If Sean were here on this earth, he would be 22 years old, probably getting ready to graduate from college.   I can picture what he would look like in my mind’s eye, how he would have grown and matured.  When I look at my oldest son, and my youngest daughter—I see glimmers of Sean.  I see glimmers of him, in my nephew.  I see his wonderful spirit in my grandson.  How grateful I am for the real moments that have come my way of getting to hug and comfort children again through my grandchildren and great nieces and nephews.

In my dream, Sean was 7 or 8.  Young enough to hug and comfort, young enough to mother.

It’s funny—in real life, there were so many moments for mothering—for hugs and kisses and let’s put a bandage on that, that they all kind of run together into one vague memory.

Now I have a memory—it is not a real one—but it represents one of the many, many memories that is now less than distinct.  

That is a gift, to now have a memory of mothering Sean, that I can savor, and which my broken heart can hold fast . So, thank you God.  Happy Valentine’s To me!!