Journal entry, February 9, 2009

As I sit here on a Sunday morning in February, snow blanketing the ground, a light breeze making the chimes sing, I love the soft quiet.  My girls, my ducklings, as I like to call them when they’re here together, are asleep in their beds.  It’s nearly noon, and I know they are wallowing in the comfort of their beds, their home safe-space.  And I’m loving the picture of it.

 I go in quietly, just to look.  Their sleepy faces, even at 19 and nearly 16, remind me of their toddler years, cheeks and lips puffy with slumber. I can’t help but touch their heads, like when they were babies. Well, I never stopped touching their heads. Something about the feel of my hand on their head that makes my heart stop…seems to reinforce a bond, makes a deeper energetic connection. I can almost see the energy exchange…but I digress.

Nothing fills the stillness like the knowledge that one’s children are home – The silent sounds of their sleeping bodies, permeates me. It is as if I’m being enveloped by their tender breath, hugged from all sides, though they rest in opposite sides of the house.  

It is a gift, on this cold wet morning, I wish to hold on to.. I want never to let it go- back out the door, to leave this home.  But my gift to them is that I will. And without guilt, because grow up they must. Go out the door and into a world of which I am not a part.  But that energetic cord remains, and fills us all. Then they come home again to their touchstone, the comfortable, safe place of soft pillows, little animals sprinkled on their beds, fires crackling, the smells of stews cooking; the world of cuddling and laughter that is unique to a mother’s home. They always come back. No matter how brief. That I know. And I’ll always be with them, that I feel.

I love being their mother. So bittersweet.

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