When I left them they were digging a hole. Buckets of water were being carried over and dumped in. There was stirring and talk of the deepest part of the ocean and pipelines. Beneath my fingernails were tiny bits of dirt and basil. The smell of sweet mint flooded my senses. When I left them. I came inside and booted up my computer. Made an iced mocha and put some music on. I opened the window wide closest to where they were playing. The way our yard is situated, I cannot see them. I can only hear them. This is happening with more frequency now, me leaving them alone to play in the yard while I do whatever inside. They don't seem to mind one bit that I go back inside. They don't know that I've had to build up my strength and senses for this to happen. By the time I was Theo's age, I was all over my neighborhood with other kids, all of us on our bikes, not a grown-up in site.
They play. I write.
We're beginning to feel the strength of summer slacken. Reminds me of my cats, the way they wake mid-sleep and slowly unfurl a paw, stretch, pull back. Something big shifted for us this summer. I knew going into it that there would be moments, days even, that would be trying, but that I wanted to spend as much time with Theo and Sully as I possibly could. I could sense, especially with Theo, that summer would be different from here on out. Not long ago, I read something that resonated deeply with me. Although I cannot recall where I read it now, it went something like: We remember not to hold on, but to let go. I got really quiet during these hot days with so much time to spend with my little ones. I did a lot of deep breathing and a lot of listening. In the night, everyone sound asleep, I'd wake. This shift felt deep in my soul. So they really must grow. Every day is beautiful and every day is hard. And it's always going to be this way. Always. I get it.
The other day we were all curled up in my bed, fresh home from the pool. Theo was reading to us. I breathed in the smell of Sully's hair, let the sound of Theo's voice spread out all over my heart. I saw in that moment what I frequently see when I wake in the middle of the night. I saw them walking away from me into the bigger world. And they come running back to this bed, to these moments, to this love we have. I know now what has shifted - an acceptance. We remember not to hold on, but to let go.
So they really must grow. And they are, and so am I. There is so much love here.
