It’s heavy. It’s awkward. Its hot. It’s stiff and unwieldy. Its uncomfortable and yet comforting at the same time. It’s the first thing on and the last thing off. It’s what I feel for every time I wrap my arms around him…just to make sure. And…it covers his heart.

It covers the heart that beat inside me for nine months. It covers the heart I lived to protect. It covers the heart I felt thumping slow and steady in perfect rhythm when I rocked him to sleep. It covers the heart that has felt the sting of defeat and disappointment. It covers the heart that has felt the elation of victory. It covers the heart that has been broken and mended.

It covers the heart that beats with a steady and solid love for a new baby boy, a little ballerina…and their momma. It covers the heart that a sister adores. It covers the heart that only a dad who has worn it can completely understand.

It covers the heart that must pretend to be cold and unfeeling in order to survive the chaos surrounding it. It covers the heart that pounds inside while squarely staring danger in the eye. It covers the heart that must be tough and yet tender at the same time. It covers the heart that some believe doesn’t exist.

It’s heavy. It’s awkward. It’s hot. It’s necessary. It covers the heart of my son. The heart that was destined to wear it. The heart that isn’t bullet-proof.