Twenty Six Miles

In the wee small hours of the morning
While the whole wide world is fast asleep
You lie awake and think about the boy
And never ever think of counting sheep

When your lonely heart has learned its lesson
You'd be his if only he would call
In the wee small hours of the morning
Thats the time you miss him most of all

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Dear J.,

Twenty-six miles separate us tonight.

And, as I sit here at midnight, wide awake while my other boys are fast asleep, I know that I should be resting, too.

Everyone says so.

But I can't.

Sleep eludes me.

My anxious thoughts fatigue me.

I walk by your nursery and stand in the doorway in awe that, just a few short weeks ago, the only inhabitants of that lavender-colored room were a white iron bed and a nightstand. Now, its warm khaki-colored walls await a young boy whose life with his new family will begin a week from Tuesday. A rocker sits patiently, ready to play its role in late-night lullabies, a plush brown teddy bear awaits his roomate, and a tub full of freshly-washed, cute-as-can-be sleepers wait to be slept in.

I want more than anything to feel your tiny fingers grasping one of mine. I wonder if you are asleep right now or if you're on your way back to sleep after a midnight feeding. I wonder if you have any idea that, twenty six miles away from you sits a woman whose heart has an empty spot...an empty spot just about your size. And she waits... and does not sleep... and stresses about finding a dresser for your clothes (even though she's been assured it doesn't matter)...and she prays for you continually.

She waits...

just twenty six miles away.

Sleep tight.

Love, Mama