Yesterday, I took my son to his gymnastics class. Usually, I settle into a couch and stay out of the way. Yesterday, we went to class at an unusual time. There were fewer people milling around. I decided to watch my son as he jumped and swung and tumbled. I heard him yell in exultation when he made it all the way across the monkey bars for the first time. I watched him do tricks on the trampoline…and I felt those cracks on my surface widening. To love him is to make myself vulnerable. To love him is to allow my heart to break.
On our way home from gymnastics class, my son and I were listening to an audio recording of "The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe". At one point, Tumnus, the faun cries inconsolably, “as if his heart were breaking,” according to author C.S. Lewis.
My son interrupted the recording to tell me that his heart broke when he cried, too. Then, he told me that his heart broke when he spit out the belch, our family’s euphemism for vomiting. This boy, I love him so much. I am so afraid of losing him, who he is now, his innocence, his happiness, his affection. Even if he survives his surgery, I fear that some of him will be lost forever.