What’s a Momma to do when she can’t get a response? When she wants so desperately to make her child feel loved.
And maybe less afraid.
When she wants so desperately to connect on a deeper level. Wants to do something so deep and personal and intimate. Something that could never be forgotten.
Other than talking to him and wiping his forehead and holding his hand and the many little things that show care. Those things any nurse or professional can do. Anyone could carry out those things.
So from the very first day…
I would lay my head on my son’s chest. Bury my face in it.
Smother it with kisses.
Right in the area of his heart.
Every day I would greet him that way…every night I would say goodbye the same. All throughout the day I would kiss him there…just so he would not forget.
I remember now that I used to do that when he would stand right in front of me. While he wrapped his big arms around me for a bear hug. I was only a little more than chest high to him. I always kissed his heart right through his chest then, too.
I guess I thought that my kisses had magical powers.
And after so many days of him lying there in that coma, I would encourage other family members to do the same.
There are so many who have a great part in this story. I’ve alluded to that fact in past writings. How I want to tell you about them. I would love to tell you about all of it…the good, the bad, the ugly. But I won’t. Not now, anyway. I will honor them and respect them and forever cherish them and their relationships with my son.
I could see that so many loved him.
In so many different ways.
Love is such a complicated thing. It shows up so uniquely and displays so many different emotions. I don’t believe any two people show love the exact same way.
But the thing about love is…the thing about real love…is that it’s a magnet.
Real love doesn’t repel. It Compels. Draws near.
My son laid there with lungs that were burnt beyond use and a brain that may not have been as alive as it should have been…but his heart was intact.
His emotions were still conscious. His heart was beating strong and steady and still filled with a lifetime of love. I believe that it was swollen and bursting with it.
I know that love is what made him come back. It was the impetus that called him back to life those two times he coded.
And that love drew those that truly love him like a magnet.
During the last few days, tempers started to calm down and I could see that any anger had subsided and the fear was giving way to acceptance. I watched as so many things resolved.
I began encouraging those closest to him to kiss him. Kiss his heart.
I was not afraid to ask for it…I didn’t care if others might have felt awkward about it.
I felt that in the doing of this…the gesture of literally kissing his chest with his big, throbbing heart underneath…
there would be peace.
I am a lover of stationery. Yes, I digress…but there is a point here. Hang on.
I love a hand written letter. A card. A thank you or even simply — an I’m thinking of you. Written out long hand.
I love beautiful paper and just the right pen with just the right ink. I love the art of penmanship and the expression of sentiments. I love the taste of bitter(sweet) glue on my tongue as I lick the envelope to seal it. I love addresses and stamps.
I love correspondence.
Many years ago, I purchased a wax seal kit. I am enamored by the idea that wax was once used to seal letters…and those seals should only be broken by the recipient. It was one of the only ways to safeguard the contents. Keep it personal.
Once especially used by royalty and nobility, each seal was made specifically for the individual or family. Most likely the family crest or some unique insignia engraved on the stamp.
I love the smell of melting wax and dripping it onto a folded card or letter…and then quickly before the wax dries…press the stamp upon it and watch the image transform.
The stamp I bought all those years ago has the impression of an engraved heart.
I have to pause a minute here to take all of this in. Because I don’t feel this was some kind of coincidence. Long ago when I purchased that wax and that sweet little seal…the future was already ordained. Back then the intricacies of my life and the crossing of these paths were foreknown. Predestined.
It was already thought out that I’d make this analogy and these dots would connect for me.
Maybe this is the reason I love the seal so much. Somewhere in the recesses of my spirit all of this was aspiring.
So in my mind as I watched those willing to kiss the chest of my son…lay their lips upon his heart (and some opted to simply lay a kissed hand on his chest. Powerful just the same)…I saw it as a royal seal.
Sealing in the contents of each unique relationship. Sealing the memory of it.
Mending any brokenness. Binding up forgiveness.
Sealing their love for him. Sealing acceptance.
And no matter what would happen, he would forever take those kisses with him.
Forever and always he would be sealed.
Sealed with a kiss.
For me I know. It gives me so much peace. So much gratification. Because he carries with him my kisses upon his heart.
A thousand of them and more.