It is my Achilles' heel, the surest path to splinter my heart into shatters and chards.
They are the surest path.
I don't think they know it, but even if they do, it will be impossible for them to understand for years. How could they understand until they sit in this chair? Walk in these shoes? Look through my eyes?
Until their own lives are extended for another generation, when slivers of their respective hearts dare to leave their body and inhabit the souls of my grands?
They can't understand until then.
Children may leave the nest but they never leave your heart.
Mine are testing their wings.
Do mother birds hold their breath when their babies are learning to fly? Are they only proud or do they feel the pain of the fall?
I'm reading three great novels threaded with hope and dream, woven into cliff hangers and uncertainty, a beautiful, imperfect tapestry telling a story. Ours. My family. The left side is dog-earred and fading, the middle in focus with stitches visible, the right is just out of view.
Being a parent leaves you sometimes wishing, often wanting and always praying.
I hold my breath and watch.
The first is already spreading wings and catching thermals. She soars, eager. She scares me just a little because she's not scared at all.
Her spirit is free and determined.
The second, ooooh, that middle one. I know something about being middle. His are the eyes that gleam bright when the world sparkles, when voices call. Whose will he listen to?
His spirit is passionate and a little dangerous.
The sweet one, my last; not sweeter because he is last but simply because his nature is a friendly construction. Kindness is his magnet.
His spirit is curious and playful.
Train up a child....
Wish. Want. Pray.
Hold your breath.
Cradle your heel.
Protect your heart.
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Inspired by my friend and fellow (in)courage contributor, Deidra Riggs.