Have you ever watched your child grab inspiration with both hands and a clear heart and create something stupendous?
Nearly four years ago I watched my son find inspiration out of a truly sad day. It was one of those precious moments that we all hold close.
“Don’t talk,” I told myself, as I sat opposite my little boy in his bedroom that night four years ago. “Don’t spoil the magic of his moment. Don’t disturb him.”
There he sat. Wet tousled hair, fresh from the shower. His eyes closed in concentration. Grasping for the phrases to complete a design known only to him.
He was composing a poem. Not just any poem. A poem eulogizing his recently passed Grandpa.
The Grandpa my children knew was a man who had been ill and failing for most of my son’s life. And yet for the last few years, at the conclusion of every Sunday dinner we shared with Grandpa, my son would stand, gently place a kiss upon the top of his Grandpa’s head, hug him carefully, and say, “Good Night Grandpa, I love you.”
Reaching out and providing comfort really is the only relationship my son had with his Grandpa. Someone to reach to help in moments of confusion, fear, or pain. That was his Grandpa. And that is what made my son into a strong and compassionate person who is like no one I have ever known.
Those quiet moments my son shared with his sick Grandpa were moments that my son began his prayer to ease his Grandpa’s suffering. And those were the same moments that he created the underlying structure for his poem. The poem.
The poem that emerged from my son’s soul shocked me.
I did not fully realize up to that point exactly how much he had learned about writing in general, and poetry in specific.
I listened to him as he focused to maintain consistent meter and weaving complexity and metaphor from stanza to stanza that repeated like music and told a story of sadness, pain, suffering, and release. It reads like a poem from a “real” poet. Like Elizabeth Browning, or Robert Haas.
Really, my son’s gift emerged fully that night we sat in his room and he wrote his poem. That gift is the gift of words. He will be a creator of ideas. He is strong, and brave, and compassionate deep in his soul and he has a gift for communicating those ideas with words that defy his tender age.
Four years later, I am still in awe of that poem and the mind that created it.
Just the act of creating the poem was his connection to his Grandpa’s soul. His way of completing his goodbye to a great man who gave my son the gift of compassion and strength and words.
My son and my daughter are the greatest gift I could ever be given. Their sorrows cut me deeper, and their joys uplift me more. I would do anything for them, anything. And someday, my homeschooled son will publish his poetry and the world will gain a glimpse into his soul and feel his pain and his joy as I do when I read his inspired words and marvel.
I linked this post up with the Mommy Monday Blog Hop. . .
and I linked up this post at this week’s Weekly Homeschool Blog Link Up at the Homeschool Review Crew.
