Thursday, August 18, 2016

His mom

Reading with my son on FaceTime started my evening off on the right foot. My day was ok, but after the busy-ness of work was over and I got home, I felt a little, eh. Driving to Costco and buying new contacts sounded tiring. The idea of going to the gym didn't stir up any feelings of motivation or excitement. Dinner options were, meh. Sitting there on my couch, trying to motivate, I called my son. We read the beginning of the next book in this series we love. We read, were delightfully interrupted by two of his brothers, both toddlers and read some more. It only took a few minutes for me to feel my chest lighten. As we connected over the excitement in the story, the sadness, the silliness, I felt better. Watching him giggle over small jokes through FaceTime lit my heart. When we hung up, I smiled and thanked the universe for my son. For my life. For being given an opportunity to see the beautiful things - the things that help make things lighter. Learning to see and be open to accepting those moments of lightness, in my heart, has been a journey. The existence of my son has been a big part of that. A foundational part. There have been many times as hard as I tried to see light, I couldn't. Times that were much worse than, eh. I've been practicing, for a long time now, how to see I can feel differently. Life is so many things. Before us at any moment we have material to work with - cultivated both from within ourselves and from others and life around us. Material that evolves and changes over time. Material that we shape, either consciously or not, into what we understand to be our realities. Our ever evolving understanding of ourselves in each moment of existence. And, I think, clearly and non-jugementally seeing what is before us is probably the first real step in recognizing what we can truly do with that material. My son reminded me of what I needed today to be able to face some slightly painful reflections in the material before me today. Love. And connection. To the person who matters most to me. After we got off the phone, I put on my running shoes and went for a run. I felt like I was gliding through the air, shifting my weight and balance as I advanced forward. I felt rooted. Open and connected. To the world and life around me and inside me. Going to sleep tonight, I feel my son in my heart. Beating. He comes from there and when I feel him at home, in my heart, it beats stronger. With more depth. He starts middle school next week, and although at times my heart feels heavy being so far away, it also feels light and full, because we are connected. Like this message he left me on his drawing/white board easel: "we are always connected." The green lines are the lines from our hearts connecting to one another. He wrote this for me as a message from him to me for when I was sad and missed him. I look at it everyday - sometimes out of sadness, sometimes out of gratitude. Always with love. I got pregnant at 18 and had my son when I was 19. I don't recommend this for everyone, but for me, his birth and his life couldn't have come at a more needed and meaningful time. He'll be 11 in February and I don't know what my life would be without him. I thank the universe every day that he chose me to be his mom.