16 August 2012

He was my everything

One of the greatest books I've ever read is 'Wuthering Heights', by Emily Bronte. So dramatic, powerful, dark, fascinating, tragic.

I've read it three or four times. I fell in love with it for the first time as required reading for a stage 1 English paper at University. I picked it up most recently a few years ago when Jack was a baby, or a toddler. He's now about to turn nine.

Me with Jack, 7 months old.

When I read it last, it seemed so different to the previous times, I suppose because I'd changed so much in those 15 or so years. There is one sentence I think I remember clearly. It was the maid/narrator, Nelly, saying of Hareton when he was a little boy (because she'd raised him) how she knew he was clever, because:

"He was my everything, and I his."

(I hope I'm remembering correctly. It was years ago, and I'm just going by memory, because I don't own a copy. This is a mistake and I must get one.)

And that's how it was with my little boy. I was shocked by it, and I adored it. He didn't need to be able to talk, because I knew what he was saying with every little grunt and expression. Oh, how I loved that baby. (And love that boy!)


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