I got to spend a couple of hours hanging out with my oldest son Sebastian tonight. It’s kind of a rare occasion, we both work a lot and he is almost 23…..
He’s a great guy, the oldest of four by 10 minutes. He’s a twin, solid as a rock and full of the kind of tender love for his mother that makes me feel weepy when I think about it. And honestly, he has been like that since before he was born. I never worried. He set himself up early, about 20 weeks in, lay head down, waiting for the day, and ate. Each month as I grew to resemble a giant hippopotamus, the one thing that I could always rely upon was the steady beat of his mighty heart every single time the OB placed his stethoscope on a certain place on my ever expanding abdomen.
It’s kind of a marvel really, to reflect on that now. And it never ceases to amaze me that I have been bequested with this great gift of a relationship. It’s never old or worn out or unpromising. We are simply there for one another.
And that is a BIG BIG thing
So, we are sitting around munching on salmon in a curry sauce, trading anecdotes about our reactions to the Giants victory when I’m suddenly struck by how much longing is inherent to motherhood. It’s a really achy beautiful kind of love. From the very beginning of the relationship, there is this curious and almost alchemic mixture of creation, expansion and letting go. It circles in upon itself, coinhering, and reminds me of the way in which the nuns at the College of Saint Elizabeth used to speak about the Trinity.
How have I learned to live with such a love? I think for me, I had to bring it into myself, tend to it mindfully and gently invite my heart to awaken to the ephemeral nature of it. It’s wispy wonderfulness whispers the kind of sweet nothings in my ear that causes me to awaken to my soul in awe.
And I feel as if I could do anything!