It came after his last brush with death. He’d been admitted to ICU. We weren’t certain he’d recover. But here we were, only a week later.
We spent some quiet time spread out on the grass at Point Judith.
His wild, Irish, Covid-grown hair catching the glint of sunlight just as it always has. The tips glowing so that it makes you feel compelled to reach out and touch it. He tells me that women still react in this manner. As a boy, he disliked that, “Ladies always want to touch my hair!” Different perspective now.
We reminisced about our old aquarium, filled with salt water taken from this very spot twenty something years ago. About starfish, crabs and likewise crustaceans.
We talked a little about Black Lives Matter and issues of social injustice and political concern. To him, they matter so much that when he’s on an upbeat, he is utterly inspiring.
We talked about seemingly little nothings like swans and their babies and cats and dogs.
We chuckled at how swiftly and easily he hypnotized Red.
But for the most part we were just Mom and son,
overlooking the ocean,
And I must tell you,
I am grateful.