Full. Real. Unfinished.

Dearest Mother- I'm smiling at the thought of you.  I believe you want this for me.  I really  believe you want this for me. Grant me wisdom.  To separate what really matters most from all the rest.  If I'm not here (physically, but even more emotionally)- if I'm not here 100% of the time, there's things that will need to go.  Standards of perfection that must break.  Messiness that must be embraced. Grant me that wisdom.  To use my time with my children wisely.  With wisdom-- not perfection. I'm deeply afraid of mess.  Because of where I came from, I often fear that mess equals wrong.  I'm afraid of hurting my children.  Because of where I came from, this is the single greatest fear of my life. So, Mother- This takes massive courage for me.  To take time away from meeting every need my kids have and instead to leave it messy.  And then, to give that time to something that still looks largely unknown. Grant me discer...

I feel like one of the many. Like I'm standing in a huge circle of humanity. I'm standing here holding my hands over my heart, so I can touch its broken edges. I approach the circle suddenly. There I am. In this circle, I don't have to say a thing. I stand there with my hands over my heart, dense tears rolling down my neck. And without me saying a thing, they know- all the parents who have gone before, stand in solidarity. On their faces I read a deep, deep compassion. They know. There is no judgement here. This circle is too real for that. Like me, they know the wordless place I'm in. How everything can change in an instant. He said it out loud so I could hear it without ambivalence, "Mom, I don't want  to be with you. I've been with this family that I love for my whole life. I'm ready to move on now. It's time." And in a flashing moment, here I am. Broken-hearted. Grateful. Happy. Longing. Proud.

 I was always floating around in space.  Since the beginning of time.  Here I float. Only, I had the illusion of being grounded.  With deep deep roots.  And because of the grip I held on those roots, I didn't notice the floating. Enter 2021, wham! Safety rope, roots, rods of iron, any sense of sure and steady footing, gone. ... I'm still floating.  Exactly like before.  Just the way I came. But now I'm aware of the floating, and without the grip on the roots, there's nothing sure. I'm not kidding myself anymore.  I was always here floating.  Since the beginning of time.

“During the Cuban Missile Crisis, President Kennedy received two letters from the Kremlin.   One was aggressive, the other gentler.   And because Kennedy said to his men, ‘Let’s respond to the saner message’, we didn’t get blown up, or have to blow up the world.”   Anne Lamott continues, “So, I try to respond to the kinder voice.” The aggressive voice says that I’ve lost my Goddamn mind.   That it literally must have fallen alongside the road while driving across the country this summer.   That I am not to be trusted.   That one singular, selfish mistake could lead to an eternity of suffering.   Eternal loneliness.   “How could I have been so… thoughtless?”   The aggressive voice says I need to keep my membership intact in order to save my family.   It’s me.   Or them.   The aggressive voice says I can’t have both.   It says that I can’t make decisions for myself.   That there are blind spots.   And shadows. ...

The world is kind. Life is loving. The sun rises every day. My body always finds equilibrium. Homeostasis is a thing. Love is real. It will all work out. There is much to smile about. We will always be ok. Love will always win. Life will prevail. Faith works. Hope remains. They always provide.