Thank God for fall. Things will again be tethered to rhythms and golden leaves and school bells. In years past, summer has been my reprieve, my freedom, but this year, it's only mid July and the long days and relentless sun have worn me down. There has been too much unsettled, too much unknown, too many ghosts to chase.
My babies are grown, almost. But as their long tanned legs drape over the couch and coffee table, their deep worried sighs carry that angst of being trapped between child and adulthood. There are relentless pressures on them these days. Who they will become, what they will do, who they will love. I know they feel untethered too. I know they need to still belong to Jon and I but long to find their own way too.
It's an anxious place. We rise with racing minds, fumble through the days and meet pillow again with monkey mind.
It was easier when they were small, and I knew it. Beach time, tuna sandwiches and a nap under the umbrella. When they awoke the ocean air lifted white hairs from their sweaty necks as they yawned in my lap. We spent long hours watching the waters crash on the shore under the pink setting sun.
But it's all so disorienting now. Everone is going their seperate ways. Spreading their still fuzzy feathered wings and perching at the edge of the nest. One..two...three... and a flight of faith. I want them to fly. I want them to fly so very, very high. But I don't want them to fall...although they will. And odds are I won't be there to catch them.
At 19 and 20, so much of them is no longer mine. I can still coddle the baby a bit, but at 14 she is 3 inches taller than me and already in many ways, wiser. I know I will always be Mom, they will still come to me in peppered moments of life, but nothing will ever again be as consistant and simple as bathtime... booktime...bedtime.