I am sitting in my chair. Our chair. The one we have both grown into, grown accustomed to. As he has grown, gotten heavier, the shape of our chair has changed, flattened out to make our spot.
I sit in our chair and I rock. I feel his chest rise and fall. I hear his breath in my left ear. He is almost asleep, I can tell by the rhythm of his breathing. I feel calm.
We rock, in our chair. My feet on the floor between the chair and the foot rest, just so.
I push us gently back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum. I am reminded of a clock. The slow, gentle passage of time.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
I don't know how long we've been in our chair this evening.
I am reminded of another time, another chair.
A story I heard, joyously told about a moment in a chair.
She said it was the perfect grandma moment.
A tear slips down my cheek, lands on his perfect little shoulder.
He is so peaceful, angelic.
And so is she, now.