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Son By My Side


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Son by My Side

Early each morning,

long before the roosters wake,

my son instinctively rolls out of bed

and slumbers down the hallway with his pillows in tow.

His daily migration always leads to the foot of our bed

and is followed by our rude awakening as he wedges between me and my wife.

Our bed does not comfortably fit the three of us.

I'm forced to sleep on my left side and my wife on her right.

My wife goes through similar pains as she wrestles back to sleep.

This arrangement leave us tired and sore each morning.

If I find myself resting next to a bed with tubes and wires invading my son

as monitors watch his motionless sleep,

I will desperately pray for him and his pillow to come home

and shatter the morning's peace at the foot of our bed.

If I find myself resting next to a slab marked by a stone that speaks of my son,

I will heartfully beg to reset the clock

to when my side of the bed was not my own.

It's now 3:00 a.m. and I find myself fighting for rest.

My arm is sore and sleep is beyond reach ~

But I silently lie in the morning calm as tears fill my eyes

and I consider how truly blessed is my life

with my son by my side.

-- Copyright © 2003 by Mike Kleiman

Mail to: mikekleiman@cs.com

Used with permission of the author

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  • 2 weeks later...

Oh that tore at my heart......

...it reminded me of a story I once read where a woman had been complaining about cleaning sticky hand prints from the windows etc in her home......this was until her precious child died......then shed have given ANYTHING to be able to clean away those beautiful sticky hand prints !

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