When he got dressed this morning it became clear that Devyn needs new clothes, again. We’ve hit that point. For years, he could wear the same shirts for two or three years. My children grow as I did, steady and slow, and both are slim and on the short side of average. However, I’m becoming aware that very soon, Devyn will likely be taller than his mother who stands at a towering 5ft 3 ¾ inches. He catches me staring at him more and more often. His response is to open his eyes real wide, smile, and tilt his face up just a bit. Kid, you have no idea how much I love you.
Matthew still fits neatly on my lap and will perch there as often as I let him. But he is getting too heavy for lengthy snuggles in this manner. Each repeated season reveals inevitable changes that must come about with the passage of time. Last fall the three of us fit comfortably on the dining-table-converted-into-a-bed, which for some reason we preferred to the queen bed a few feet away. My guess is (strange that I don’t remember for sure) that after we took David to work, when I would make a nest on that “bed” by the front window so I could look out at autumn sunrise and write, the boys decided it was the place to be, both for warmth and the comfort that is being close to mommy.
I miss my mommy. I’m sure this explains my near-silence as far as writing new poems and pieces. Deep down I know that written words will eventually lead me to the reality that I cannot curl up at her side, or hear her voice, how my my heart aches, how easily tears form and fall in great drops off of my eyelashes when I remember. Like now. Like last night. Layers of acceptance form gradually, and I am broken open, gentler. My mom can see my heart now, and she is loving and helping me in a way I have never experienced. This is the gift really, this softening, waking up and being present for my life as mother, wife, spiritual being walking a material path, this feat I have longed for but didn’t know how to manage.