I Hope

When they were little, I was the one who cuddled them back to sleep in the middle of the night, kissed their boo-boos and listened to their stories. I took pictures, kissed their chubby little knees, taught them how to dance. I hope even if they can’t remember the specifics, they’ll remember that I was there. That is was comfort. That I was love.

Now, I’m the one who checks homework, packs their lunch, makes sure their clothes are clean. I listen to their stories, I hug them even when they don’t want it, but I know they need it, I help them solve their problems, I tuck them in at night. I throw the football, I shoot baskets, I jump on the trampoline, I play board games, I read stories. I wash shin guards and smelly cleats and fill water bottles. I hope they remember that I was there. That I listened. That I comforted them. That I served them. That I was love.

I hope in the future, I’ll be the first one they call when something good or exciting happens. I hope I’ll be the first one they call when they fail. I hope they’ll turn to me when things don’t go their way, when they’re feeling sad, when they don’t think they have the strength to get up in the morning. I hope they’ll know they can just call and I’ll know what they need by the way they say Mom. I hope they’ll walk in my house and I’ll see their eyes and they’ll know they don’t have to say a word. I’ll know exactly what they’ll need.

I hope they always feel that I love them above all else. I hope I’m always the one thing they know they can count on. I hope they’ll always feel safe and sound in my love for them. I hope they’ll never, ever have even a moment of doubt about my love for them. I hope they’ll always feel my love no matter where they are or what they’re doing. I hope they’ll be able to say, with confidence, I was and am and always will be loved.

I hope.