I slumped to the kitchen floor. The time had come for the conversation I had dreaded. The moment was right. I could feel it in my bones. I needed to tell him the truth.

I motioned for my not-so-little boy to come near. He slid onto my lap. His frame pressed against my ribs. I couldn’t tell if it were the weight of his growing body or the moment upon us that squeezed the air from my lungs. Either way, the gentle pressure was a reminder of days when with a shallow breath came constant anguish. I sucked in a new, deep breath – proof I was no longer encamped in that sorrow – then prayed wisdom over my tongue and grace for his ears as I dove in.