Leg cramps

Leg cramps.  Arm cramps.  My almost 8 year old sitting on a chair alone in the kitchen.  “I’m just taking a little break, my leg is really tight.”  When all the other kids are out running and jumping and keeping up.  I put him on my back and run around so he can finish the water gun fight, so he can keep up, so he gets a taste of the fast thrill of childhood he seeks.  He is slowing down. Too soon, I tell myself, too soon, I’m not ready for this.  There is no ready for this. I wonder when I’ll accept this condition of my son’s life.   I wonder when these moments won’t send me into a tailspin of sadness and loss.  I want to savor them, the giggles as we get soaked, the delight in his body, his voice, his smell, I want him to know childhood without this black cloud, I want to forget and pump our lives full of joy and laughter and delight, but I had to leave the party, the tears threatening to spill onto everyone’s good time.  

The car ride home is silent between my husband and I.  Intense feelings for a couple to navigate.  Hank in the back seat is over his momentary disappointment of leaving (we’d been there a long time anyway, and the kid was tired).  Silver lining Hank, “Wasn’t that a fun day, yeah that was a fun day! What were your two favorite parts?  Mine was the boat ride and the water gun fight!”  His sparkle and enthusiasm soften my mood.  But still, his leg is so cramped up he can’t walk into the house, or up the stairs to bed.