Be here

At least three times today I was invited, boldly, to leave the room, the yard, the sidewalk so as to allow Elliott to play with his grandma or grandpa. "I don't want you to be here in this room!" he said. Maybe someday he'll be able to articulate how much fun he is having at this special place with the people who adore his quirky interests and could you please not interrupt that mom? But for now, the best he can come up with is to keep the ordinary out of the extraordinary, whatever it takes.

But after a sleepy last hour in the car ride home and crawling into fleece pajamas (by himself!), Elliott and I sat in his bed and looked at a Chicago transit map. He didn't mind my short version of a favorite made-up story, and he didn't argue when I suggested folding the map back into its deeply worn accordion creases. I was welcomed to be here. After one of Elliott's terse invitations to leave today, my sister in law asked, "Doesn't that just break your heart?" and I wasn't sure how to answer. Somehow it doesn't, but why is that? What is it that keeps us going? But now I remember. The being here keeps me going. Because whatever the outburts, harsh words, and sibling mishaps, there is at least a moment to just be here with him.

I rubbed his fleecy back as we prayed. When we came to the part where we give God thanks, Elliott's eyes lit up for the 5-disc CD player he commanded at his grandparents' house. Dietrich poked his head out of the covers, but was too tired to say anything. His limp body resting in bed was his way of giving thanks for the endless stories read to him the past 5 days.