Yesterday I was upset with my son for getting his punctuation wrong. I am always such a bossy mother, telling him to do this, do that, do the next thing. Please.
This evening I came home in tears. Always feeling a failure, never really fitting it, being socially awkward and introverted. Being technically weak in a technical role.
My son came and sat with me in my room. He rubbed my back for me and comforted me. The others in the house continued what they were doing.
And I thought to myself. My son’s heart touched mine. He entered into my pain. He had and has always had a special gift of empathy. We are born with souls. Sometimes it gets crowded out. At the end of the day, who cares about punctuation? What does it really matter?
Poems and Petals 