We may not ever become perfect at it, nor is perfection the goal.
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I closed my eyes once more, this time reaching for the courage to ask for forgiveness and the humility to receive it, then stood and began my descent…
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After 15 minutes or so of coaxing my hips open and marveling at how much strength I’ve lost in my upper arms, I tuck a pillow beneath my bottom and set the Insight timer for 10 minutes. The silence is spacious.
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Inhale. Exhale. Thought thought thought thought thought. Leaves fluttering. Eyes heavy. Inhale. Exhale. Car warm. Drowsy. Thought thought thought thought. Inhale. Exhale. Temptation to check timer. Inhale. Exhale. And then, finally, the chime. Aaaaaaaah. I did it.
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On my bedside table, so many books. Half-read books, unread books. Paperbacks, hardcovers. On my head, more grey hairs every day. I pluck them, not in battle but more like a new hobby. My skin is changing. My life is changing.
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Apparently, I wasn’t done crying yet, as her question triggered another round of heaving sobs. Flooded by how much I love my kids, more than perhaps they will ever know, and feeling in my bones that this is how much my mother loves me. The immensity of love felt almost like too much to bear. Because it is also pain, and it is also loss. There is no picking and choosing here.
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