“He’s so big,” I said to Paul, exhausted and exasperated at the same time.

“I know,” he responded and wrapped me in a bear hug.

“I just needed to hold him,” I said through tears, as though my actions needed justification.

No response. He understood.

**********

On this evening when I heard of yet another tragedy that has taken place within the blogging community, I found myself in Jackson’s room. I picked him up like a rag doll and held him on my shoulder as though he were 19 weeks instead of 19 months old.

I needed the smell… a wet diaper… baby sweat from being nugged up in the corner of his crib under a flannel blanket… his murmurs.

He needs me.

But tonight I needed him.

**********

He’s so long now. Like, soooooo long. I have to recline our glider in order for fully lay him out on me when he lays on my chest and sleeps. Our breathing falls into rhythm with one another.

I envy how relaxed he is and yet it makes me happy at the same time. So peaceful, content.

**********

After putting our son back down in his crib for the night, I enter our bedroom and talk to Paul about all of the thoughts running through my mind… 2009 just needs to end… there has been so much loss… etc, etc...

While still listening to me, Paul reaches up to our ceiling fan and pulls off a piece of plastic from the chain that hangs from it.

I look at him oddly, wondering if he’s heard a word I just said.

“This is what we need for the chain that broke off the light in the pantry,” he says, plastic prize in hand.

I stop my train of thought entirely, look at him, point at the ceiling fan and say, “That… right there… that thing you just did… that was Jack.”

**********

Paul’s Grandpa Jack was buried in Arlington National Cemetary just a little over 1 month ago.

Life does go on… a menial ceiling fan chain was proof positive of that to me tonight.

Pain is real. Grief is real. Carrying on the memory of a loved one is real.