Today I am particularly sensitive to the growing up of my children and grandchildren. I am in Utah surrounded by many of them. I am away from my two youngest. So the stage is set for some pondering and introspection.
Each time something happens over the years, I feel the dreaded tug of something forcing me to relinquish my grasp on my babies' childhood. Tears, pleading, praying, writing, screaming cannot change the tide. It comes uncaring of a mothers' heart breaking. I feel the sand pulling under my feet. I see the wave draw outward relentlessly, rhythmically, predictably. My mother tears are carried away as refuse.
All I can do was wait. Wait for the magical new tide to bring newness and wonder. Do my babies still know me? Do they know I love them uncomprehendingly? Do they remember my smiles, my touches, my hugs and my voice. Each time I wait. And it comes, splashing joyfully. Always. Different but always.
I love the ocean. Countless times I have stood at the edge and felt the ocean pull out, the sand gathering out from under my bare feet. The building wave is beautiful, eager to swallow up the empty sand. It crashes back onto the shore, into my legs. Happy, crazy, joyous, foaming and lovely.
I have stood on a shore during this month. I have felt the tide pull out for the last 33 years. I am here under the wave, giggling, laughing, eating, tumbling. Girls' night out, births, photos, babies, shopping, secrets, eating, hugging, laughing and laughing, sharing, praying, absorbing, helping...
The tide will pull out again, I know. But for a few more days it is delicious.
(August 2011)
