Love Gives Us The Hope To Imagine

When I was pregnant, I wondered what my boy would be like. Imagined what it would feel like to be a mom. It doesn’t feel like it’s been 11 years since I stared into his face thinking “I did this. We made him.” I marveled at the teeny-tiny fold right beneath his eyes, his perfect lips, and at the heartbeat I could see in the soft spot on his bald little head.

Sometimes, I feel grief for past years; for the former versions of him. Of myself. When I’m feeling sad about those years, I imagine the future, and how one day, I’ll miss the version of ourselves that we are right this minute. 

Love Gives Us The Hope To Imagine

He still has that little fold beneath his eyes. He’s still young. We have time. 

I was 40 years old when I was pregnant. By then, I’d fallen in love with nieces, nephews, and friends’ children. I marveled at their incessant chatter and looked forward to my own little boy standing at the front door, chattering away about his ball while waiting to go to the playground. I looked forward to him turning three and attending preschool at a Montessori like the one I went to, singing “John Jacob Jingleheimer Smidt,” just like I did. 

Of course, nothing is as we imagine it to be, and at three, I knew what it felt like to be a special needs mom. He was starting Preschool Autism Class rather than Montessori and wasn’t exactly chattering. Some of my hopes and dreams for him changed when his speech therapist told me not to ask him to say “open” at the front door. “Just have him say “O,” she said. Hopes changed, but they were still there. Because love. Love gives us the hope to imagine, even during uncertain times.

***

When I booked our Disneyland tickets for spring break this year, I imagined walking from our hotel to the park on a yellow-tinted California morning, talking about which ride to head to first. Now, it’s hard to imagine how Disneyland will survive this pandemic. How we’ll each be when we can once again hug freely, and laugh in line with strangers.

This morning, I felt hopeless. The isolation and anxiety about school this fall felt like too much. It was hard to imagine ever feeling safe again. 

After a therapy session that consisted mostly of my tears while detailing sleeplessness and anxiety dreams, I made myself go outside to sit on the porch swing. There, I traveled to the future and imagined looking back on these uncertain days where I feel afraid to imagine traveling anywhere, much less someplace as crowded as Disneyland. Future-me reminded porch-swing me that we are made of hope and stardust.

That we are imagination and love.

Love gives us the hope to imagine. 

With that, I went inside and invited my 11-year-old to come sit with me. While swinging, the world tiled to the right, just a tiny bit. It was enough for hopelessness to turn into hope. To feel complete and utter love for another human. 

I stare at him. “What?” he asks. “I love you,” I reply. “I know, Mom. You tell me all the time.” He smiles, rolls his eyes at me, and I send a thank you to the universe for today, for the past, and for the future. 

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, with the prompt “Can you imagine?” along with this photo, by the fabulous Mardra‘s brother, Tim Wright.

Doesn’t it look like a woman?