Thank you, Kyle

Something’s happened recently which has changed my perspective on parenting, and life. I’ve learned of the death of a little boy who was three years old. He died tragically, senselessly, too soon, with too much life still ahead of him.

I became aware of his storylast year—after hours of crying and a promise to myself that I would keep my son as safe as I could for as long as possible, I moved on. I saw his story again some time ago, and since then, everything for me has changed. I know children die, awfully, all over the world—every day. But the effect of this little boy and his family on me has been profound.

Looking at my son, I feel as if I wasted a good part of his second year being not his parent, but his warden. Always worrying about whether what I was doing was right, good, and constantly worrying about other people’s assessment of my parenting skills. The last six months in particular had been full of yelling, tantrums, and “no!”. I realized I had been so pre-occupied with what my son was eating, how much sleep he was getting, and how to discipline him, that I had almost forgotten to be his mother. Not his mother, the cop, but his mom, in every sense of the word that means love, compassion, the allowance of exploration, and care.

It’s so easy to lose patience with a toddler. I know I’m not the only one. At the end of each day I look back and think of a million things I could have done differently, so that the day could have gone smoother. It’s so easy to forget to look at the big picture, while my toddler is screaming and turning purple. So what if he bangs his car into the wall and makes a mark? I can wash it off. So what if, for the 100th time, after I’ve told him not to, he dumps his Goldfish on the floor? I can sweep them up. So what if he pitches a fit because I won’t let him play with the vacuum? Instead of yelling at him, I scoop him up, I kiss him, and I tell him that I love him. When his tantrum is over, he takes my hand and we find something else to do, together.

Each time that I have wanted to lose my patience with Alex I think of this other little boy—the one who died, the one whose bright brown eyes and sweet smile remind me so much of my boy. I think of his parents, and how hard it must have been to bury him, to never see him, smell him, hug him again. How hard it must have been for them to return home, to his empty room, with the toys he would never play with and the clothes he would never wear. To think of what he could have and would have become, all the things they never got to know about him, and the wonderful adventures he would never get to have. I think of his love of animals and think he would have loved Go, Diego, Go!, much the same way Alex does. I feel as if my eyes have been opened, my heart changed; and this parenting thing, that I thought I had all figured out, actually is much bigger and much more important than I could have ever realized before.

So, I want to say, thank you, Kyle. Not only for keeping Alex and my future children safer, but for reminding me what life and love are truly about. Thank you for helping me to love my son, totally, completely, and to live with him and cherish each day. Thank you for reminding me to have adventures, laugh, and not sweat the small stuff.

Thank you to the Miller family for helping other parents and families to keep their kids safer. We will be getting a Britax for Alex as soon as he’s outgrown his current car seat, and we brought in a certified specialist that made sure our current seat was installed correctly. Thank you for your message, thank you for your love, and thank you for loving perfectly and completely.

Plase visit http://www.kyledavidmiller.org/pages/home/index.htm for more information on Kyle and his family.