Feverish Child, the Second

I dedicate this post to Benicio, who has been stricken with the flu since yesterday after Mass.

Dear Benicio,
Only now am I reminded of how young you are. How much you ask of the world, of yourself, of me. When I get sick, say with a fever, like you are now, I buckle. At the first body aches, I cancel everything. As the malaise sets in, I go fetal. And as the thing takes its course, I let it bowl me over as my plans for the day scatter and fall like so many Kleenex. You son, however, were so articulate about each phase, so present for the faucet post-nasal drip. You exclaim out of your sleep, "Mom, mom, I just STILL don't feel right!"

I returned from the Y and you were asleep on the couch in the living room. Your eyelashes soaked with tears, your flushed cheeks. You were serene and cherubic. I went into the kitchen to talk to Dad. Then, out of your sleep, you shouted out, "All the Tylenol did was bring the fever down!" I came to you and you were outraged that you weren't feeling better. Oh, little son. The world is not as it should be. The axis is off-kilter, the orbit interrupted. The order of your eight-year old universe is halted.

I told you that we could call Noah after school for a little cheer-up chat. You said, "No, I don't want to get him sick."

I love your specific wishes that punctuate your sleep. Requests for "the plug-in blanket," your water, the lavender eye-pack for the "excruciating head ache," and my favorite, "maybe a little Avatar episode, where it left off yesterday." I love that you are lucid in these small spurts.

You let me hold you in my arms for a long time this afternoon. I forget how small you are, with your passion for reading, your Midas-like athletic ability, and the way you approach people with that Quakerish benefit-of-doubt generosity, and your calmness that makes me look like Woody Allen with Turrets on espresso.

Maybe you won't always be this way. But right now, I love that you know how it feels to feel right. And that you let us know when you need help finding your way back to sleep, or your back rubbed, or a song sung.