our little button

Tears don't come easy these days, I don't know why. When I was younger, and even not so many years ago, they came easy. Perhaps I've become too hard, too unfeeling, and the tears would break that shell. I suppose only those close to me can tell me if that's true. But tonight the tears came, and I wish the streaks down my face would scar, so that I would look in the mirror ever day and never forget the complete love, and the complete fear, I feel for my son tonight.

We watched Benjamin Button tonight, a beautiful movie full of fantasy, faith, and pain. About half way through, as Benjamin started his work on the tug boat, Grant walked in the darkened room and curled up in my lap. He's a lanky 10 year old now, no baby to be sure, but he curled up as if I should swaddle him in a blanket and lay his head in my folded arm. He laid there and put his arms around me, brimming with innocence and warmth. As we watched the movie, he looked up at me.
Daddy, he said.
Grant, I said.
This repeated about 20 times and every so often it was
Daddy - Grant, he said
Grant, I said.

And Benjamin Button grew older, while his body became younger. He struggled to reconcile his new youthful experiences and his old appearance. Others struggled to reconcile his old appearance with his youthful vigor and enthusiasm.

And Grant continued to lay in my lap, and look up at me, and say - Daddy.

And the tears came. He's our little button. He doesn't fit in his body. He struggles to reconcile his 10 year old youthful body with a mind that won't let him communicate his 10 year old thoughts. Others struggle to reconcile his youthful body, full of vigor and enthusiasm, with his inability to answer questions, his desire to shy away from those who could, or would, be his friends.

What I would give to know what other thoughts were behind "Daddy". The one word, over and over, as if he was spilling his heart to me, but every word came out the same.

And Benjamin Button became old, while his body was that of a young boy. His mind stopped working as it should, and he grew into dementia. He threw curious tantrums. He became sensitive to touch. His mind wandered and yet had moments of great clarity.

Grant fell asleep in my arms, his breath becoming slow and even as the peace of his dreams took over. In his dreams, there is no break between his mind and body, his thoughts become words, or his thoughts become ours. But in the morning, the 10 year old boy with the out-of-sync mind will wake up and take another crack at trying to make it all work. At trying to get his thoughts across. At trying to corral his attention. At trying to figure out what he should do with all these people. And he will continue to do this day after day.

And Benjamin died, his mind finally making the complete break from his body in which the two had never been in sync. But he died in the arms of the one he had loved, the one who had loved him.

And my tears continue to fall.