Sunday, March 1, 2009

The Comfort of Children

With very few exceptions, somehow I have managed to avoid spending time with babies and young children for the past 6 months. It's just been too painful a reminder that my Ezra isn't here. The special exceptions have been my nephews and niece (not the new one, haven't met her yet) and the children of my dearest friends. I've placed an absolute ban on infants, which will of course be broken in a few weeks when I go meet my new niece. This actually makes me very sad - I have always loved babies and children, and have always said that nothing makes me feel more whole than holding a small child.

And then today I made a new friend. At a gathering at a colleague's house, her 21 month old son, who had never met me before, walked into the crowded room, pointing at me, and motioned to the stairs - he wanted to go up and needed a hand to hold. And so I took his hand and up we went - until half way when he looked up at me and said 'up!' raising his arms above his head. When we got to the top and I went to put him down in the room where his brothers were playing, he said 'no' and pointed back to the stairs - so down we went. We made our way into the kitchen and spent a pleasant 20 minutes or so - him perched on my hip and nuzzled into my shoulder, eating dried cranberries which he requested one by one from atop a salad that was laid out on the counter. Until his dad came and took him so he could eat a more proper lunch.

I can't quite explain the warm cozy feeling I had holding this child, the energy he radiated. Certainly he was not my Ezra, and lately I have a hard time imagining Ezra at any age but slightly preemie newborn anyways. He was himself, testing his independence yet still needing the comfort of an adult nearby. And though it didn't last long, his snuggly goodness made me feel whole. In fact, I dare say it gave me hope.

13 comments:

Sara said...

I'm glad you had this positive experience.

Dani819 said...

Beautiful. I can picture you with that little one in your arms- and with many little ones to come.

Gal aka SuperMommy said...

Yum. That must've felt so good. Sounds like you connected soul-to-soul with this sweet little boy, and he did the same. Just knew you from a crowd. :)

marlono said...

Sarah, I'm glad that you were able to enjoy the company of a little one again. I hope that this is the first of many positive, happy moments that you will have.

Funsize said...

I'm the same way, I avoid most babies except for my neices. I'm glad holding that little boy gave you such a good experience. One day, you'll get to do that with your baby.

Carly Marie said...

What a warm story. So beautiful thank you for sharing your Hope Sarah :)

erica said...

I'm so glad. Clearly that little boy knew you were special.

aliza said...

beautiful sarah. what a heart opening experience. perhaps ezra was there too while you held this boy and felt the wholeness and hope inside yourself.

Rach said...

Such a sweet/sad experience for you.

I think he may have found you in that room and knew you needed a little hug or two...

xxx

Monique said...

Lovely. He's got wonderful taste this little man.

Hope's Mama said...

That gives me hope too Sarah.

Lani said...

thats so sweet. i've been avoiding all babies too except my nephew and some of my close friends kids. the newborns- don't think i can do it.

so cute that the little boy was drawn to you. i find it so rare that a little one wants anyone other then its mom and that makes me so sad so i ignore them first instead so i don't have to be rejected. i think that if a child that age wanted me to hold him i would do so happily.

actually, the kids i teach all love me and want to be with me, and that feels good. it feels nice to hold a child that wants you to hold them. thats how i picture my own baby, only wanting me to hold him - like i see my nephew do with his mom.

this was a sweet story filled with so much hope. thanks sarah.

k@lakly said...

Hope, a wonderful thing. Savor it. Enjoying time with a sweet young life, especially after losing your own, remarkable and so tender.