I watch her pick him up. He puts his head on her shoulder. He knows he’s safe in her arms.
She checks on him between church and Sunday School. She fills up his juice cup; she worries he may run out.
She lets him pilfer through her things. And she can tell you his favorite meal and what songs he bounces up and down to.
They share a room and she wakes up to his loud shrills. I often hear her from the den lovingly say, “good morning”.
His vocabulary consists of only a few words, but these two have a language of their own.