Sunday, May 25, 2008
Summer is coming. That time of year that fills children with glee and adults with a hammock swingin' malaise. For me, I feel a heart tightening ache. My son will be leaving soon for nine weeks. Nine weeks without his tail spinning Pokemon adventures. Nine weeks without his arms tight around my neck. Nine weeks without battles over meals and chores and television. Nine weeks without standing in his doorway watching his chest rise and fall with the motion of his dreaming. Nine weeks.
Mother love is deep and wide and sometimes it hurts. I watch him grow into the eight year old who only steals a hug and kiss when I drop him off at school, in a corridor where noone is watching. An eight year old, who is moving into a social sphere, experimenting with friendships and how they operate- who is growing out of the little boy. Nine weeks seems like a long time to miss in his fast-forward life.
My old man.
It is a heartache of mine that I love this man SO much and have seen him so little in my thirty-four years. His weathered face and broad carpenter hands fill my heart with a belonging that I don't have words to explain. When I am with him, I drink like a hummingbird greedily sips nectar. I am grateful for the man that is my Papa.
Who never forgets how to be a kid,
and always remembers to make me laugh. He is my Dad.
I long for the sea. A deep aching want that fills me when the tide rises its salty spray to kiss the sandy shore. Maybe it is the fish in me circling in some celestial sphere or perhaps the product of being an old surfer's daughter. Whatever the cause, I long for her salty embrace like a lover longs for the beloved and my salty sorrow finds its way back to her, one drop at a time.