My Year.... My Kids

I quit writing.I was writing, always in my head, but time--time to write--if I'd have started writing, I may not have stopped. So instead of not stopping, I never began. What I was telling you in my head was that last year had been the hardest of my life; that I'd lived through it. And that life can come and get me, and that I will be running right into it, as fast as I can. There will be no more weeping in bed, head tucked under the covers. I shall weep, make no mistake. I don't remember the order, but I recall the crumbling. And here is what has made it all worth it

I struggle now, more than ever. I want to give you the world, but I want you to know what it means to seek out your own place. I want to teach you the importance of loving yourself while making sure you learn how to put others before you and the value of that; of recognizing more than yourself. I want to be your compass, and yet, more than ever, it is you that are mine. "What would I want them to do?" "What would I want them to know?" "What if that were my child; how would I want someone to fight for them?" So how does this work, you ask? I see your insecurities, and they gnaw at me. I see your strengths and they inspire me. The three inches that you've grown, the three shoe sizes that you've gained, The three weeks inbetween seeing you --in just a year? I cannot keep up with you and for that I am ever so eternally grateful and sad. And that makes not one bit of sense to me, either. There is no stopping this thing called time; perhaps these are the longest years. I cannot be your friend all the time, but I can be your friend. I cannot grasp you to my chest. I cannot shelter you from this world. I cannot follow you to be certain that you've donned your hat and zipped your coat and protected your lips with the chapstick that I seem to buy you daily. I will never rock you again in the old creaky chair; never fall asleep again with you on my chest; But can still make you believe that I am magic. Santa is gone, the Tooth Fairy is gone, the Easter Bunny is gone; on some days, I know, even God is gone. I can't make you believe. I can't explain well enough. And I must be alright with that. And I will tell you that even now, that is hard, despite knowing it is how it must be. There is no love beyond this love. There is no breath that I take without you on my mind. There is no thought not marked by your presence. There is no beauty that does not remind me of you.