I watched you paint the other day.
I savored the moment of watching you swirl your paintbrush into the color of your choice, wondering if that may be your favorite color.
I feel that you are getting so big, becoming a real little boy, more mature and grown up, kind of like what happens at age 7.
Yet I look at you and there’s a deeper longing that has aroused within me.
Maybe because I see in your eyes, you have so much more to say than ever.
I can just see.
I look at you countless times a day, wondering if you could say something at that very moment, what indeed would you say.
I imagine that you would say things with much wisdom and deep understanding, like I see in your eyes.
I imagine that you would make a joke and laugh, indulging in humor, which I see exists in your heart.
I imagine that with every word you would say, a new color of expression would paint my world, filling my heart with hues I only dream of.
I think about you and your mind, and how frustrating it must be to still hold the power of speech somewhere inside you.
I know it’s there, but it’s hidden and I don’t know where it is.
You see, I love hearing what all my children have to say, it’s like a palette of endless color combinations and when blending different tones, I breathe their imagination, stories, fears, aspirations and thoughts.
It is colorful oxygen for a mother’s soul.
I simply would love to know what’s on your mind.
To understand, hear, feel…really know.
I’m listening though. And I always will.
But oh it hurts inside.
I want to hear your voice.
Your very own voice.
I am holding onto my blank canvas. And I will, for as long as I need to.
I will await the day, when you will paint my world with the most magnificent colors ever imagined.
You will swirl your brush in a new palette of sound, stroking the depths of my heart and you will color my soul radiantly.
May he fill your ears and heart with wonderful colours of speech very very soon.
Love,
Mom