I just read this in the latest issue of The Oprah Magazine (July 2007):

"I have come to believe . . . that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal, and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood." - Audre Lorde

If I could have said this beautiful sentiment on my own, I would have. But I didn't, so I'll borrow it and profess that this is exactly how I feel.

Seven sweet, simple words were hurled at me last night by my oldest child, Joey -- the boy who makes me as crazy as he does happy.

Joey, six, was all snuggled in bed, cozy with his soft blankets, squishy pillows, and three favorite stuffed puppies. I gave him my usual speech -- Sweet dreams. I love you. Now don't get out of bed -- and then made my usual trek to another room for some me-time. My trip was stopped short, though, because a strong urge inspired me to reverse my steps and return to Joey.

"What are you doing, mommy?" Joey asked as I walked back into the room.

"I thought I'd come rest with you for a little bit," I told him. "Is that OK?" I asked, knowing full well any excuse to avoid sleep is just fine with him

Joey sat straight up, pure joy coloring his tired face. I took this to mean he welcomed my return. And so I crawled into bed and hugged Joey tight. And that's when he spoke the seven words that caused tears to pour from my eyes -- the kind of tears that spill out when the human body can no longer harness its emotion.

The words:

"Mommy, I love you so, so much."

Ever since Joey blessed me with these words, I can't seem to get one thought out of my head.

The thought:

God, I hope I survive cancer long enough to hold this boy in my arms until he is all grown up, until he is wrapping his arms around his own loving child.

I really hope this is not too much to ask.