I know it is expected of me to write about the arrival of the California Dream. I don’t think I can do that here. I will break down in tears like I did the day she arrived. She was taking her sweet time and it pushed me over the edge to a spell in the hospital chapel crying and praying. Except now the tears would be bittersweet. Not knowing when I will touch her again is something I refuse to think about.
Our son’s grandmothers had the same dilemma. Our son was four weeks old when we left for California. And we definitely didn’t know when we would see each other again. Contact was a 15 minute long-distance phone call on Sunday afternoon and “snail mail”. I still have the piles of letters my mother and I exchanged.
Things are different for our situation now. Nevertheless, the need to catch a plane to get to her causes my heart to ache.
I am still fatigued from the trip. The all-day travel to then from California. The comfortable yet strange bed. The time difference. The anticipation. The anxiety. The excitement. The anguish.
I take photos of the foothills behind her house. In between my turn to hold her, I would go out and look at the hills again. The ever changing light makes them look different constantly. They are like my lake with their continual cycle of lights and shadows playing across them. I will try to go back to the lake tomorrow. Time to start walking again. And I need to tell the ghosts who linger there in my memory about the little one I am loving for them and for me.
My little nieces came to visit this past weekend. They are wonderful little folks!
But, it is hard on me when they leave. I cry for an hour or so each time they pull out of the drive to go home.
This house is so painfully quiet most of the time. Our own children have been out and on their own for ten years already. He and I ramble around trying to keep up with things.
I miss my children. Yes, I miss the adult children they are now. But, I really miss my little ones. When they were babies and small children and even big children.
I tried to have special times with them every chance I got. I was selfish with them, too. I didn’t let the rest of the world have much of their time until they were too old for me to keep them close.
I suppose I knew even then these days would come. Days when those amazing grown-ups would call me Mother and I would look in wonder at the marvelous people who honor me with that title in their lives. I suppose I knew even then I would forever miss my little ones.
And so I cry because the little ones who come to visit me now will someday be grown-ups and I will miss their little selves.
Such is life. Hurling through time at the speed of love. Life is far too short to be in a hurry. My motto for many years. Better stop and experience this life at this moment. Don’t rush headlong into the future. It doesn’t exist. Only now is real. Only now fills the heart with love. Only now allows memories to build the beautiful life I so long for.
Let my eyes fill with tears and my heart ache only for a moment. Then let the memories sustain me until the next now happens. When I will not rush to do, but pause to be.