Story
Yesterday Me Previous Story
Holding too tightly can actually create distance.
“Come down from there!” I’m standing atop the tallest slide in the playground, my mother’s voice ringing in my ears. I look down the chilling length of the slide. I want to go, I hear the call of the unknown But I turn dutifully, and reluctantly climb back down, step by step so that she can see that I am careful, responsible, and can do this alone.
When my foot touches the dusty midwestern dirt, her hand is on my shoulder as she spins me around. “Don’t ever do that again! You could have really hurt yourself.” But I wonder. I know she has wisdom that I, as a child, can’t have. I know she loves me and wants me to be safe. But still I wonder. Could I have taken that long slide and been okay? Maybe. Maybe not.
At the airport years later, I well up with tears as my daughter leaves for college. I hear my mother’s voice, “Come down from there!” Inwardly, I see the little girl I carried in my arms. I see her on family vacations. I see her adolescence and young adulthood compressed into a split second. My tears are of anticipation. What will she find? Who will she become? But mostly, I cry tears of sadness for the loss of her, of her childhood—and the loss of myself as a young mother. She turns, as I did on the slide. She pauses, then turns to make eye contact. I swallow my tears so that they are not visible. She knows that I have wisdom that time alone can give. She knows that I love her. She knows that I want her to be safe. But her future calls, and she is no longer a child. She will not wonder. She turns, stands a bit taller, and walks toward the gate.
You may want to visit our other websites:
Uncommon Promise Video Channel
Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog
The UP Side Lowdown by Cheryl
New Music - Virtual CD
When my foot touches the dusty midwestern dirt, her hand is on my shoulder as she spins me around. “Don’t ever do that again! You could have really hurt yourself.” But I wonder. I know she has wisdom that I, as a child, can’t have. I know she loves me and wants me to be safe. But still I wonder. Could I have taken that long slide and been okay? Maybe. Maybe not.
Missing times gone by
At the airport years later, I well up with tears as my daughter leaves for college. I hear my mother’s voice, “Come down from there!” Inwardly, I see the little girl I carried in my arms. I see her on family vacations. I see her adolescence and young adulthood compressed into a split second. My tears are of anticipation. What will she find? Who will she become? But mostly, I cry tears of sadness for the loss of her, of her childhood—and the loss of myself as a young mother. She turns, as I did on the slide. She pauses, then turns to make eye contact. I swallow my tears so that they are not visible. She knows that I have wisdom that time alone can give. She knows that I love her. She knows that I want her to be safe. But her future calls, and she is no longer a child. She will not wonder. She turns, stands a bit taller, and walks toward the gate.
You may want to visit our other websites:
Uncommon Promise Video Channel
Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog
The UP Side Lowdown by Cheryl
New Music - Virtual CD
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