Hands so Small

I couldn't sleep. Paced back and forth across my kitchen. Sometimes thoughts plagued my mind interrupting my rest. I stepped outside. Gazed at the blackness of the sky. Too many street lights to appreciate the stars I knew illuminated the sky, blotted out by man made beams that only shed more rays on the reality I now faced. I crossed the street, to the playground, where my son ran and played on warm summer days. I followed the sidewalk surrounding the jungle gym. Pressed within the cement were hand prints so small. I placed my hand beside the imprints and realized how far I have come, how much time had passed. Where did things go wrong? or did they go right? Nothing according to plan, but was that a good thing? I still don't know. I thought of the dreams that I had back when my hands were so small. I thought of the imprint. What kind of imprint was I leaving on my son whose hands were that small? Does he dream like I did? Where will he end up? He trusted me enough to put his hand in mine and let me lead. Each day his hand filling more of mine.

Time... A concept I still struggle with; a minute can drag or fly by. Warped by the interpretations of my brain. He was growing up fast. A moment of time, gone, only a memory. With me forever even if burried within the abyss of my brain. 

I found myself still circling the playground. Around and Around, my head was spinning. I didn't know which way I was facing. I didn't know where I was going. I make no plans. I just simply put one foot in front of the other and I found myself standing in front of the door to my house. Did I follow my feet? Or did I follow my heart? All I knew was that I was Home... Everything I needed and wanted was on the other side of that door. I just had to go through the now open door.