Go.

He still comes into my room every morning before school and waits for me to finish getting ready. He used to sit in my lap in front of that tall mirror while I put on my make-up. Today he came in, arms wide, and hugged me. “It’s going to be a good day,” he said.

I hugged him back, forcing myself to be still. It doesn’t matter that I’m running late or I want to brew a cup of coffee or my bag isn’t packed. It doesn’t matter that I have a meeting or still need to put on lipstick and mascara or haven’t eaten breakfast.

What matters is he still waits for me. He still hugs me. He still loves to start the day. There is something special about a day in and day out lifetime history together.

He’s hugging and I’m slowing down when he says, “We should take a picture.” I don’t have time, but I remind myself that these days may be numbered, so I swipe open the camera on my phone, hold it out, and he says, “Right there, Mom. That’s perfect.”

I take the shot. He hugs me tighter. And this moment is caught in time — forever still.

Stop.