Parenting is a heart-wrenching adventure — not for the faint of heart.
Now I see. We are still children when we become parents, and that is true in some ways no matter how old we are when our children are born. And now you are almost raised and gone (at least #1), and I have finally grown up myself, mostly anyway.
I realize today that I love you all in ways that are new to me. I don’t think it’s a bigger love — it’s more like an ancient love that has been stored in a treasure chest. It always belonged to me, but someone finally gave me the key. The treasure within is astonishing. It fills my heart with joy, yet somehow it fills my heart with sadness at the very same time.
How is this possible? I am so thankful that I am capable of this feeling — no, not feeling — this place — this place of love. But it makes me want a time machine. I’ve never longed so deeply to time travel.
I want to go back to so many things and have a do-over, to see them through these love-rich eyes. So many things I would do slower, more thoughtfully, so many things I would never do at all. Much of my life up to now seems extremely careless — and it literally was — I cared less than I do now.
But I don’t have a time machine, dang it! The only time I can visit is this right-now moment and every moment I am granted hereafter. And I plan to wake up tomorrow and live like a mother who loves you more truly than she did yesterday. But I know me and I know life, and I am terrified that I am going to be typing a similar note 10 years from now with all kinds of new regrets spinning in my head.
My love for you is pouring out through a very broken vessel. There are cracks, and my love leaks out into places I don’t intend it to go. Thankfully, I call upon a God that can keep it flowing into me. He never runs out.
So when my little love fails you, it is my deepest and most honest prayer that you will turn to the only place where you will always find love waiting.