Blue Lines.

“Mom, can I tell you something?” 

His voice is small and unsure floating through the dark, and the work that will keep me up until early dawn can wait. Because if I have learned anything, it is that it is the moments you don’t pause to embrace that you regret most when they are gone.

“What’s up?”

“I wish Dad was here.”

For the past year, I have watched the little boy fade into the beginnings of a pre-teen. New levels of olfactory distress have decimated my nostrils and I’ve contemplated the merits of trash pinchers, latex gloves and kerosene as viable alternatives to skin-to-dirty-laundry contact. The freshly scrubbed smell that once mingled in the night air with a little boy’s contentment has been replaced with the smell of masculine body washes and worn sneakers. The smell follows us into the car long after we leave the hockey locker room behind, and deodorant is no longer a nicety, but a necessity.

All week long he has been reveling the way boys do, an unbridled collision of fledgling bravado, exuberance and uncertainty.

There’s something about the nights that brings out the emotion and the honesty. They call for me to cuddle, to wrap them in a warm, protective cocoon that shields them from memories and monsters under the bed. We giggle and we cry and we think about what’s gone and what’s wrong.

Tomorrow he will experience for the first time either the sting of rejection or the thrill of acceptance. And the other mothers will leave their hearts on the ice with their own and the fathers will swell with pride and frustration over the unpolished beauty of the game. As we have for all these years, we will gather his gear and I will watch as he walks alone to the locker room where he will borrow a father to lace his skates. I will watch him glide through the gate, the spark lighting in his eyes when his blades touch the ice.

And I will watch as eyes search for me, the smile breaking as he nods and lifts his stick before he slips away to join the others.

“When I see the other Dads, I think about him and I miss him. I wish it was like old times when we were a family. But it can’t be.”

“I’m trying, I promise.”

“You’ll watch me tomorrow? Because this is really important for me. It’s a really big deal.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I always do.”

“I know you are doing the very best you can, but I wish there was someone new in our life so we could be a family again. Someone to help me tie my skates. Because you don’t tie them tight enough.”

“I know, lovely boy.”

“It’s okay. You’re trying your very best.”

“It’s like hockey. You know how you play every game like it’s a championship and you leave it all on the ice?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what moms do every day.”