When “I Love You” Is Hard to Say
With the help of small rituals, sometimes it doesn’t have to be said at all.
We have a ritual, Logan and I.
Every evening (and some mornings too) when I give him his medication, I also give him his chocolate chip bribe. The meds are to keep his seizures at bay while the bribe is to convince to take them.
One night several years ago, I started singing a silly, made-up song. I still sing it every time I give him his meds.
Chocolate, chocolate, I love you.
I love you.
Yes, I do.
Chocolate, chocolate, I love you,
I love you.
Yes, I do.
Nothing remarkable. Nothing fancy. It’s a pretty silly little song, really. Except I got a kick out of the way he relaxed as I sang it. The child who never relaxes or stays still for a minute would lean against his pillow as his tense muscles relaxed for the first time that day. He’d clutch his blanket; quiet and watchful as our ritual progressed.
Over time, his eyes would drift to mine as I got close to the end. Until I started this little ritual, Logan rarely looked me in the eyes. I‘m not invited into his world often. Somehow during the comfort of a silly song, our special routine, he began letting his guard down.
