I Need You (A Poem)

Photos by Sue Moodie Photography

You need me

I need you, too,

to make me face the hurts I felt

when I was small like you.

I need the way you love,

forgive,

play,

and fight,

so unrefined and unrestrained,

to teach me how to do them well:

where to let loose,

and where to master myself.

I need your fingers pressed in dough

to remind me of what is true.

I need your eyes,

the way you glow at ladybugs and worms

the reminder to slow,

to notice,

to see,

deeply.

I need you to make me question

and think through how to raise you

to humble me to the depths

of the pages of parenting books

and my knees in prayer.

I need you to watch me

so I remember to be the kind of person

that I hope you become,

to remind me I can’t fake it.

I need you to stop my thoughts,

interrupt my pursuits,

insert yourself in my business.

I need you to give me all the chances

to choose love and patience and goodness

over convenience and comfort and me-first.

I need you to drive me crazy

so I can clearly see were I’m stuck,

where I’m hanging on to crusty habits

and where I still need to grow up.

I need you to eat in the middle of the night,
deprive me of sleep,

to throw your food on the floor,

to cry for no reason that I understand,

and scream in the grocery store.

I need you to show me what I can endure for love.

I need you to require me

to try and see things from your perspective

so I can try to keep from damaging

your confidence in your own vision.

I need to see you sigh with relief, safety,

when you see how much I love your dad

and how much he loves me,

when we kiss and hug in the kitchen.

I need all your differences from me,
the ultimate testing ground

for loving unconditionally.

I need all your sameness

so I can heal vicariously.

I need your quick and easy smiles,

I need to watch them get heavier, weighted, with each passing year

as you witness and experience pain

so I can plead in whispers,

“please don’t let that ever be because of me.”

I need you to ask me what it means to be grown up,

so I can ask myself the same question,

trying to stay curious and adult at the same time

so I can tell you it’s possible.

I need your faith, your belief

in the good things you can’t see,

your trust that they are there,

that the best things come eventually.

I need your warm arms around my neck,

your wet kisses on my lips,

your sticky hands on my cheeks,

their softening effect on my callouses.

I need your sparkly pinks, your swords and guns,

to remind me to lighten up

and not see problems everywhere.

I need all your reminders

that you don’t need so many things,

but you do have the right to me:

present and imperfect, but trying.

I need you to give me practice

at saying an unqualified “I’m so sorry,”

again and again.

I need you to be my reminder

to be careful and gentle with you,

of the importance of tenderness,

the kind that makes you run home to me at Christmas,

and want me when you’re sick,

take care of me when I’m fragile,

and remember how much I loved you

with every touch,

with every smile,

with every moment I could meet

one of your needs.