I wrote once before about how I look for Robb everywhere—in crowds; whenever I see the back of a redhead; every single time I see TBDBITL, the OSU Marching Band (and then I cry too); when I see a daddy with two little boys in tow. I’m drawn to look for him like the pull of gravity on my body: I have to. It’s a constant force, a deep-seated desire that pushes at me.
And just recently I figured out why, in part, it’s as natural and compulsive as breathing. It’s because we moms (and maybe dads too? I’d have to ask–but definitely grandparents are included) gain enormous pleasure simply from looking at our children. Watching the way they move…noting the various facial expressions…if they articulate with their hands…whatever they’re doing: it’s of interest. (Um…unless they’re up to trouble. That we truly don’t want to happen in the first place.)
It’s simply….pleasurable in a unique way that’s entirely of its own, in its own sphere, creating its own paradigm. It’s a category of joy we’re given that we don’t truly understand or appreciate until…until we can’t. And then? Then you ache for that pleasure, and so…you search.
Watch your child. Truly look. Drink in him or her like the most glorious gift ever. Today do it once for yourself. And then once for me.
Vicariously, I’ll “drink” with you. Here’s to Robb.