LaLaLaLa…I can’t hear you.
My best thinking got me here.
My best thinking will keep me…running in place.
It’s not too late.
Listen. Listen more.
To Silence and to Loud.
I tell myself to listen.
To hear what You said and what I meant to say.
When I’m tempted to defy, I’m often reminded that everything falls. If I drop it…anything…it will go to the ground.
No matter what I say or do , gravity wins.
Even if I want something desperately, and lay the best plans, certain “laws” stay constant.
I find comfort in that, except when it isn’t comforting.
When my feet are stomping and my tears rage, I want to be stronger than I am. I want to have recognized and absolute influence…to stop you from doing something, or to make you fall in line.
How frustrating that we are limited in that influence. We aren’t big enough. We aren’t beyond influence.
That’s the thing, right? We can influence, but we can’t control.
I can choose, but I can’t get you to choose.
I can drop something, but I can’t keep it from falling.
She is so much braver than I am. She acts. She goes. She does.
I thought at first it was borne out of rebellion. Maybe a distant cousin, related but not primary.
Two choices…to stay or to leave. She chooses, and so she’s gone.
But this one is meant to fly…I knew it the very moment I met her.
Born, hand up, then tucked inside a cozy blankie, but wiggling those tiny fists, always straining, out of the bundle, to feel the air.
No failure. Only promise. Peppered with disappointments, even mistakes, but forward. Onward. Risking safe.
My heart strains too. Protect her. Tuck her back. Hold on tight.
But this one is meant to fly.
I can hold you, even though I can’t touch you.
Peace with your bravery. For you. From me.
Words said but not fully. Truth covered.
Careful choices. No abandon.
Between the lines is cavernous.
The cavern is too cold. I can’t hide there.
My mouth will carry the burden of truth.
Freedom in the attention to details.
Sweetness of truth-telling.
When did I realize that?
What was the catalyst?
Can I be both an adult and a child?
Such a good question… to ponder when I recognized myself as an adult..
We had a playhouse when we were little. It had kitchen toys, windows, curtains and even a house number. We played house all the time, bickering over who got to be the “mother”.
Eventually, I got to be a mother for real. Becoming two little someone’s mom was a marker for sure. Even if I didn’t feel grown up, in their eyes, I was.
When I was re-singled, and all on my own, I catapulted into adulthood. Is that it? Being depended upon surely makes me a grown up. Doesn’t it?
I think, though, that the common thread in the fabric of my adult status is loss. Withstanding the harsh winds of losing…for me its been health and divorce.
And my dad. Losing a parent is so odd. It makes me feel like the world is tilted…off center somehow.
Learning to stand up, get up, keep moving, re-define. Become.
Maybe I’m just realizing adulthood now.