...as they so often do,
when I consider these children
that Daniel and I have been entrusted with.
And what to write of this child,
who was first to call me "Mama"?
Who, with first heartbeat, and first breath, and tiny hand wrapped tightly around my finger,
helped usher me into this sweet/amazing/terrifying
era of motherhood?
Her eyes speak of kindness,
her lips bear truth,
and her heart (though rarely worn on her sleeve),
lives within easy reach of any who need compassion.
She turns 12 today.
12 seems like a funny age to be a milestone,
but it always has been for this writer.
13 marks the official induction into "teendom,"
where people expect you to start screaming
declarations of independence.
But 12...
...well, "12" is the quiet shifting of the tide,
when the waters are drawn less and less
toward the safe shores of home,
and more often toward the depths of the wide open sea,
with all its possibility, and a seemingly endless horizon.
I have been watching and waiting quietly for this shift,
and it has come.
I thought I was watching and waiting from the shore,
but, no;
I am the shore.
She ventures away more often
to explore every corner of her existence;
sometimes, I am lonely for her, even as she sits beside me.
Each time she goes, she takes a bit of herself, grain by grain, and I want to shout,
"Bring that back here, young lady!"
But it was never mine, always hers,
resting safely on this shore, only mine to hold
until she was strong enough to reclaim it,
and carry it away.
Away over the ocean, away from me,
to her own place, to her own being,
shifting, churning, swirling,
until, finally, she will settle
and she will become a safe shore for her own children.
But for today, she lingers,
because, she, too, senses the shift,
and today is not a day to be drawn away.
Today she will sit upon this shore, and scan the horizon,
and, just for today,
she will be in no hurry to get there.
Hau'oli la hanau, love.
*I have to go through this 2 more times?!?! Ack! ;-D
