Love (in perspective)

I remember the first time I held you in my arms. I hated holding newborn babies, but you were different. Even though you were just a few weeks old you squirmed and wriggled . . . so animated. I don't care what anyone says, all babies are ugly-cute. And you were no exception (though emphasis on the CUTE in ugly-cute, okay). I never knew what it felt like to love someone, a total stranger, so much. To know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I would do anything for you. Forget just material things, I would sell parts of my soul, lose my dignity, live the rest of my days in agony, go to hell and back for eternity, just so you could have one more second on Earth. I would face the black abyss without hesitation. I jokingly tell you I love you more than pumpkin spice mousse, floppy-eared puppies, meteor showers, chocolate-covered pretzels, bear hugs, full moons, monarch butterflies, lilac trees, red and orange leaves, Cumulonimbus clouds, thunderstorms, breaking waves, spring breezes and hot, humid nights. But closer to the truth would be, I'd give up the experience of all those things and more, just so you could have them. And the kicker: you wouldn't even have to like them, as long as they inspired you to go out and find the things that make you happy, that make you whole. You're not even my son, but I cannot imagine loving anyone more and even if I never have my own children, just being able to love you makes me feel like I am not at a loss in that department. My heart goes out to the people who do not know that kind of love and if I could leave you with any one gift, it would be the one you've given me . . . perspective.