Little Critter

This afternoon I laid on the bed and read--out loud.  I read Little Critter books written and illustrated by Mercer Mayer.  I was reading to Clown--Ian's stuffed toy from when he was a baby.  I've read those books hundreds of times.  All 3 of the kids loved them.  I bought the first one at a warehouse in Tracy when Ian was just a few months old.  It was  Just Go To Bed.  It's pretty ragged  by now.

Some of the other favorites were  Just a Daydream  about becoming a Superhero and taking care of the neighborhood bully; 

Me Too  about the little sister who wants to do everything her brother does;

 and  I Was So Mad  about being told no, and wanting to run away.

The kids grew out of the Little Critter book collection a few years ago.  The books didn't go in the donation piles or in the yard sales. I couldn't part with them.  I kept the whole stack in my closet on a shelf.  I figured I could read them to my grandchildren someday.

Last year, on this Sunday,  Ian was in the hospital,  but he seemed a little better.  Lucy and Mikey came with Keith to visit and we took Ian on a (wheelchair) walk up on the roof of the hospital.  Shortly after they left to come home,  he said he wanted me to take him on another walk.  I just pushed him around on the floor,  but he tired  pretty quickly.  On the way back to the room, we passed a book cart.  I spotted a Little Critter book.  It was Just Me and My Mom. 

We stopped and I asked Ian if I could read it to him.  My nearly 16 year-old son humored me and sat quietly in the wheelchair while I read out loud to him one of the books he and I both knew by heart.  That was a gift.  In less than 24 hours he was gone.  I feel like some angel placed that book there to give me one last chance to mother my son. 

I probably read 10 or 12 critter books  this afternoon, but not Just Me and My Mom.  I might not read that one ever again--in a good way.  Why smudge that memory?