This morning, as I drove Grasshopper to his second day of preschool for the year, I listened to NPR with one ear, and my three year old's prattling with the other.
NPR was talking about the September 11th attacks. The three year old was talking about play-doh.
I was listening more closely to the three year old than the radio when I suddenly heard a voice I wasn't familiar with reaching through my speakers. A voice that drew me in. A voice that touched a place, deep inside of me, that I don't often allow myself to recognize. A place that didn't exist until I became a mother.
I urge you to listen to this clip, it's only a few minutes long, and so, so worth your time.
As I sat in my car at a red light and wept, I watched my beautiful, fearless little boy in the rear view mirror and wondered what it would take to allow me to sleep at night if I ever lost him.
And when I dropped him off at school, I made sure that the last thing I said to him was, "I love you."