Dearest Jonathan,
Never in my life have I wanted time to slow down. The radio keeps blaring 103 days of summer promotions and the only thoughts that go through my mind are...only 103 days. I can feel my heart beginning to break.
One Sunday morning, October 15th, 2006 I sat beside you in our family sedan. Your Grammie was in the passenger seat and your Daddy was driving. You were new..brand new. Not even 60 hours old. We were taking you home from the hospital. Your father reached for the cell phone to call some friends to tell them about your arrival. He was so excited about having a new baby he almost didn't know what to do with himself. When he went to dial the number I asked him to wait until we arrived home before he called anyone. I only wanted him to concentrate on driving, we were carrying such precious cargo. He looked at me in the rear view mirror and I saw in his eyes the same feeling that I carried upon my soul. We solemnly swore we would always take care and protect you from all the evils of the world. So my heart is breaking.
Since the day we took you home from the hospital I have stayed at home to raise you and Destyni. I worked, but only from home. The longest that you have been away from me is less than two full days. In September you start school. You leave me and I don't know what to do. When I think of Autumn I get this feeling of great sadness mixed with great happiness. You are taking your first stepping stone into the journey that will belong to you and the legacy of your life. I will let go but not easily.
I want to go to your school and meet your teacher. I want to tell her/him how special you are. That you play hard like a boy but within your ribs lies a golden heart brimming with sweet emotion. I want to tell your teacher that if anyone is mean to you I have to know right away, I want a phone call, I want details, I want to know how you responded. I want to give your teacher my cell phone with strict instructions that as soon as you look like you need a hug to call me and I will be there in moments.
I don't know how I am going to go shopping and buy you a pair of indoor sneakers and never know how you scuffed them up. I don't know how to pack your lunch knowing that you won't be sitting at the table eating it with me and telling me everything you want to do in the afternoon. I don't know how to put your backpack on your tiny shoulders and walk with you to school. I don't know how my arms are going to let go and let you walk through those double doors, into a world so foreign to the one you are used to.
I know that you are ready for school. You have been ready for a few weeks now. By the end of the summer you will be so ready that you may not sleep the night before school. Neither will I sweet Jonathan.
I hope that the sun takes just a few more minutes rising and the moon decides to look down upon Earth for a few more moments each night, because I only have 103 days.
