The Grammy Blanket | A Story About Letting Go

When I found out I was pregnant with my son Asaiah, I began dreaming about the many experiences I would have with him. The feelings of exhilaration washed over me, leaving me energized, and full of hope with anticipation for his arrival. I haven't been disappointed. Being a mom is hard work but full of wonderful surprises and sweet moments that I wouldn't trade for the world. Asaiah has been a wonderful gift from God.

Now, I have to admit, there were those days when I didn't always feel the gift part; those days when he didn't sleep through the night, or when I was at my whit's end trying to hang on during one of this marathon fits. But those moments were fleeting; they seemed like an eternity while I experienced each second but they quickly faded as soon as I held him in my arms.

Asaiah has a warm, sweet personality that has stolen my heart many times. Life moments with him have been rewarding yet unexpected; they've been so beautiful and revealing, unscripted, and at times, have kept me laughing until my belly ached. I believe God knows we need these types of moments with our children to balance out the more challenging times, and to encourage us while we work through the times that test our patience and endurance. And, if we hang in there long enough, we'll learn something too. I'm amazed each time I learn something through my son's experiences.

One night, a couple weeks ago I had an experience with him that uncovered my struggle to let my little boy go. I'm still recovering, trying to come to grips with the fact that he is growing up and maturing faster than I want him to. On that evening, the roles reversed. Instead, he became the teacher and I was his student. It was an innocent conversation between us. He shared his concern for other children who didn't have blankets to keep them warm. I told him we could pray for those kids, which was fine with Asaiah but it wasn't enough. He said, "Mommy, I want to give those kids my Grammy blanket to keep them warm."

I'm not sure why I tried to reason or convince him that we could keep his Grammy blanket and still give the kids newer blankets. I could feel a tug in my heart. I heard myself say, "See the significance of this moment Dori? Your child wants to give his most cherished blanket to someone who needs it. To him, the blanket kept him warm and gave him security. He wants to give that feeling to another child."

It was a pivotal moment for me. I think as parents we're aware that every moment counts. We teach our children to be kind, to be loving, and to be giving. We teach them something every day, whether intentional or by accident. They reflect and mimic what we've modeled to them. They speak like we speak. They act like we act. They follow in our footsteps. They learn from us--the sometimes good, sometimes not so good--habits we display. Their actions are telling. I'm thankful to God for watching over my boys, and that His grace prevails where I fail. And I do fail, all the time. Thankfully, my son's capacity to forgive me has proven to be endless.

As I think about my conversation with him over the blanket, I realize that I want to be more like him; the compassion in his heart rivals mine. I'm reflecting now. Wondering how it came to be that my sweet boy thinks about life the way he does. His giving nature is refreshing.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by Asaiah, still insisting he wanted to give his blanket away. It was getting late, so I hushed him for a moment, and told him we could discuss it further in the morning. As I was leaving his room, I thought back to when he was a toddler with his blanket in tow. He didn't go anywhere without it. Before we left the house, we listed it as a priority right up there with diapers and food. I know the connection to his blanket started out because it was given to him by his Grammy. But something odd was happening to me.

To think about giving it away somehow pricked my own heart. I never expected him to willingly offer it to someone else. Besides, I had plans for his blanket, like saving it for his wife one day. Surely, she'd want to see it--all of its sewn together holes, which resembled battle scars. Each one of those precious holes representing an event in which mommy was hero and nurse saving the day by mending the blanket. Its been well loved by Asaiah and, by me too. When you hold it up to a window, you can see clear through it. When I look at it these days, the memories of my sweet boy carrying it around flood to the forefront of my mind.

Even as I type these words, my heart begins to beat just a little faster because so many things are changing. He's recently begun calling me, "Mom" instead of "Mommy." And the other day, he chose to walk by himself rather than allowing me to hold his hand. I wasn't prepared for that moment either. The time is ticking away too fast. People tell you all the time that it all goes by too fast but when you're changing poopey diapers, cleaning up after your children, and losing sleep, somehow you just can't see beyond where you are. It seems like the appreciating and the cherishing of moments with your children gets lost in the shuffle of daily tasks and routine.

Asaiah is half-way through Kindergarten. He's learned to read, and write, and do math problems too. He's made such progress since his first day of school. The hard truth I'm struggling to swallow is that my baby isn't my baby any more. The Grammy blanket isn't just the Grammy blanket any more.

The realization came fast for me. Asaiah isn't attached to his blanket any longer; it is I whose become attached. Asaiah, my compassionate boy wants to give his very best gift to a child who needs it more than himself. We've taught him to prefer others, and now, he's doing what we'd hoped he'd do all along. How can I argue with that?

I turn my heart to the Lord, thanking Him again for the wonderful gift of our son, Asaiah. Both of our boys are so special to us. Time is fleeting. Here today, gone tomorrow. I hold Asaiah and Judah closer, tighter, and a little longer these days, knowing that I have a short span of time to influence them. I'm learning too that they are influencing me as well.

As I mentioned in the beginning, I'm aware that every moment with them counts. Asaiah's heart of giving has taught me that letting go can be a beautiful thing. And really in the end, we never let our children go; we just step back and let them grow into people who hopefully spread their wings and fly while we stay steady supporting and loving them along the way.

God bless,
Dori
P.S. This story was revised and reprinted from its original copy date of March 21, 2012, Asaiah's sixth birthday.