To which sins shall I confess? Panic when as an infant, you’d hold your breath and faint? Complicity moving away from Grandpa? Weakness, letting you visit your father who was still drinking? I apologize for the dogs you did or didn’t like for shopping trips where you spent money like a Sheik for not punishing your $300 pre-Christmas phone bill for loving you when you were your least loveable. We refract the light that spawns us Blue permissiveness from black strictness Green sprouts from shiny white bread Time unearths our original sin, imperfection.
I did not know when I birthed my son that he would take my heart with him. At night, desperate for rest half asleep, barely present I’d attempt to nurse him. The choice frustrated us both. One night when he cried, I took him downstairs to my rocker, made tea, made us comfortable and realized he was my life. He grew. I watched my heart learn to walk, read navigate friendships, school and grieve a first love anew. He became a man who with his spouse created three children into whom he placed his heart. Together, powerless but present remembering our own youth we watch their spirits grow as they navigate their lives. We’re participant and spectator both since we freed our hearts to beat, break and love inside our children.