"Let me go let me go let me go!" my four-year-old son said.
Just minutes before he was sobbing in my arms after an encounter with our pantry. Five cans of beans came crashing down on top of him while he was reaching for some juice. The immediate hysterics that followed were understandable.
After his wounds were kissed and he felt safe again...
He wanted to go.
I wanted to hold on.
I let him go, anyway.
Not five minutes later, the cans in the pantry came tumbling down on him once again. He was really hurt this time and needed Spongebob band-aids and to be held in my arms even tighter than before.
Of course I thought, "I told him so" and "if he had only listened and learned the first time."
But none of that really mattered. I knew that regardless of the injuries, it would still be only a brief moment that I could hold on to him.
Soon enough I heard, "let me go let me go let me go."
And as hard as it was... I did ...knowing ... that I will treasure the moments that he comes to me for comfort once again.