Oh how I miss him!
My every thought — his face not far behind.
The Boy is looking more and more like his Daddy every day. It's hard.
People say that I should no longer mourn for him, that it is unhealthy to still long for his presence. I suppose they may be right. But that doesn't change anything.
The Boy is beginning to develop his stride. He has this way of pursing his lips when his mind is puzzling over something. His limbs are all stretching, becoming more defined with age. AND, he recently announced he was growing his hair out.
Thank you God, for not giving my child brown eyes!
"Momma, why didn't you want me to have brown eyes?"
I knew I'd never be able to say no to both of you.
The Boy has the shape of his Daddy's eyes — wide almonds, tilted slightly up in the outer corners. They are currently a deep sea green. They darken and deepen each passing year as the flecks of dark amber and brown multiply. His Daddy's eyes were deep, molten pools of brown. I often thought a person could drown in his eyes, and the heat from them could melt one completely.
The Boy longs to feel his daddy's presence, frustrated that he can't. I wonder if that's only because he hasn't yet recognized his daddy in himself, because I certainly feel his presence when I am with The Boy. It makes me miss him all the more.
Perhaps that is why I can so readily believe that the very longing for God is evidence of His presence.