It was a regular day with regular stuff happening. You know...the beauty of routine and the comfort of being at home. Kind of like those last few puzzle pieces so perfectly fitting into place. This is how I felt. Like playing Freeze, when all the buzz settles into a quiet, motionless being.

Intrigued by the sound of laughter and its cause, I stopped what I was doing to take a peek...to place those little pieces into my picture puzzle.

Giggles and laughter...the kind that comes from deep within and feels so very good...so healing, so fulfilling.

A mere mattress, some blankets and pillows strewn across my living room—yet it was their love and laughter that held their fort together.

Remember those days? Jumping from pillow to pillow, swimming across vast oceans right there in your very own home...the essence of imagination, adventure, journeys and expeditions.

And then I became part of their little world. Filling my heart with the beats that make me alive. That make me really live, love, and laugh.

We still have our own vast oceans, right in our homes, oftenLaughter and love with raging storms and stunning sunsets. Our pillows and blankets of life are strewn across our floors, somewhat frayed and worn from time, struggle, challenge, exhaustion. Yet if you stop and listen carefully, you will hear...

Laughter and love. The tools to rebuild your fort. The foundation to live your very own inner adventure.

I watched you paint the other day. I savored the moment of watching you swirl your paintbrush into the color of your choice, wondering if that may be your favorite color.

I feel that you are getting so big, becoming a real little boy,You are getting so big, becoming a real little boy more mature and grown up, kind of like what happens at age seven.

Yet I look at you, and there’s a deep longing within me. Maybe because I see in your eyes that you have so much more to say than ever.

I can just see.

I look at you countless times a day, wondering what indeed you would say, if you could say something at that very moment. I imagine that you would say things with much wisdom and deep understanding, like I see in your eyes. I imagine that you would make a joke and laugh, indulging in humor, which I see exists in your heart. I imagine that with every word you would say, a new shade of expression would paint my world, filling my heart with hues I only dream of.

I think about how frustrating it must be to still hold the power of speech somewhere inside you. I know it’s there, but it’s hidden and I don’t know where it is.

You see, I love hearing what all my children have to say. It’s like a palette of endless color combinations, and when blending different tones, I feel their imagination, stories, fears, aspirations and thoughts.

It is colorful oxygen for a mother’s soul.

I simply would love to know what’s on your mind. To understand,I want to hear your voice hear, feel . . . really know. I’m listening, though. And I always will.

But, oh, it hurts inside. I want to hear your voice. Your very own voice.

I am holding on to my blank canvas. And I will, for as long as I need to. I await the day when you will paint my world with the most magnificent colors ever imagined. You will swirl your brush in a new palette of sound, stroking the depths of my heart, and you will color my soul radiantly.