This day had form before I even opened my eyes. Never mind how late I stayed up last night,
or that I filled my mason jar too far and my friends catered to my gluttony by feeding me foods I can't afford, and we soaked up the cool air while we talked once again about adventures and I dare not get any hopes up, but I do because I'm a sucker.
I opened one eye slowly, and remembered there is a cake to make. I sit for what seems like an hour at the end of the bed before I lug myself to Chris who has coffee for me. I zombie-stroll through the neighborhood grocery where Mr. Jones, the manager, hollers loudly for this time of morning:
"Hey, there! How you doing?"
"Just fine." I say squinting. "Thank you sir."
I am trying not to forget my purpose.
My kid is nineteen today. We'll all go watch him play ball for the Buddy League, then we'll meet at another park to play ball. The sky looms with darkness, but I do not worry. I have so much practice now, not worrying.
I hope people are not scared away by the threatening clouds. Hope they show up for my boy who just wants to play ball and get presents and feel like the center of the universe for a couple of hours.
The sun comes just in time to boost their confidence. We play ball in a swampy field. Eat hot dogs and cake and soda. Sing an off-key Happy Birthday to Chaz. And linger, talking and breaking cascarones on each other's heads and picking up our mess.
I look at my kids and their friends so grown and I know I don't have much more of this. Only so many more birthdays for me to plan before friends or their spouses takes over. Only so much time before my satellites find new suns.
Chaz graduates next week. My other two children will most likely go to a half day private school. I will go back to work. We will find a house, Chris says, when we get back from our trip. Our trip that has no return date. Things change. As they do, I hold on to my purpose. To do good, to give Him glory, to love and love and love.
It begins to rain as we put the last of our things in the car. I feel like the overcast skies sent us only a cool breeze, holding the weight of water until our bare dirty feet slid into the floorboards of our cars and we headed home.
Loving. Learning. Worshipping. Wondering. Railing. Hoping. Holding on. Letting go.
2 comments:
It is so fascinating and hard to watch them grow. How does your heart take it knowing they will fly away from you? From the day she was born, I knew she was no longer mine but always with me. I cannot begin to, nor do I want to feel what you are feeling right now. But you did create an awesome family, so I will think on that :)
Maybe it's not quite as hard because Chaz won't leave right away, but I know he wants to go eventually. That requires a lot of preparation. I have been looking at options for him to move out on his own since he was in second grade, trying to see what was out there and then crying myself to sleep at the lack of quality living/care facilities that match his abilities. But over the years the options have improved and multiplied.
I will have some control in how he goes and when, but that doesn't make it easier. The weight of what we choose rests on us, so we, even now, have to seek wisdom, sign up for the right programs, (waiting lists are ten years) and hope they don't get cut and listen to our kid's wishes for his life and see how close we can get to what he wants for himself.
Hard but good stuff.
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