My children now see me as a separate person.
That feels strangely vulnerable.
What do they mean by saying they can see Dad and I living here or there?
Or that they can see us doing this or that?
There is a Dad and I?
I had almost forgotten.
Forgotten that one day — it would be he and I,
And we would be over the hump — that there would be another chapter,
Another chapter of he and I.
I have been inextricably entwined in the beautiful necessities of the precious everyday.
Deeply engrossed in the job of giving my absolutely everything.
Watering and tending the root, only when the day allows.
I have spent years treasuring my beloved and most cherished place as mother.
The cushion is still very warm.
I sit there awhile, looking out over the day.
It is increasingly mine.
I rediscover that I have my own preferences, my own desires, my own passions.
I am once again the lord of my own radio.
Let no one touch my pre-sets.
I find my husband’s hand… it is beautifully familiar — but strangely — not the same.
Do we remember how to dream together?
My heart is in the chair, my foot is on the road.
I look forward with anticipation and back with yearning.
A balancing act.
I must learn to let go.
I have done this thing- however not perfectly well.
I have experienced the excruciatingly beautiful and primal process of receiving precious seed, carrying hidden life, and laboring through birth.
I have been made drunk with the desire to love, nurture and mold my brood —
my people — those who are connected to all that I am, all that I was, and all that I will be.
And now I am called to let go.
Not a little- but completely.
I am invited to drink from a new cup, explore a new realm of necessity and desire, and enjoy the warmth of a new season.
Obviously, to be continued …