Dear Jackson,
I grabbed for your hand this morning as you stood before a long flight of stairs, just bubbling over with excitement, to "master" the task before you. I, on the other hand, had a pang in my heart and a picture in my head of you tumbling down to the bottom. I gripped your hand a little tighter, but you pushed me away. You looked up at me, with that smile, that clearly said "C'mon Mama, I'm ready for this." So I stood back (well, actually, I stood below you, ready to catch you, because I am your mother). I trusted that you could climb down by holding the railing, but I wasn't certain you could balance on all 20 steps and make it to the bottom without any assistance at all. You looked like you wanted to walk down them without holding on . . . just like your daddy did moments ago.
And you did.
You took each step carefully. And you showed me, yet again, that you can do things that I think you aren't ready for. It was a very cognizant experience in "letting go", quite literally, as I felt your little hand push me away. And at that very moment, I recalled the way you use to wrap your finger around mine . . .
But I am not sad for old times I cherished. Your tiny hand will be in my palm many times between now and forever (just stopping along the way for brief intermissions of independence of course).
