It is so precious to injest the final and hopeful sighs of the next generation as they launch into new spheres of effectiveness. It is not without its own groanings and growing pains.
Our car becomes a thinktank, our bedroom becomes a crying bench or laughing room or praying site. Everything is a drama between 18 and full flight feathers.
"Why is "he" looking at me?" "Why isn't "he" looking at me?" Que Sera...Que Sera days, I call them.
Not at all like the questions of yesteryear, "Why is the sky blue?". Things have become very myopic and still very beautiful as I fight to stay involved in their lives.
They are growing away. I am growing old. No longer attached at the hip and still every once in a while my hip feels empty. Then every once in a while back they come to my hip and I say, "What is this extra weight stuck to my hip?" Its me mother, "Will I be...?" Que Sera...
That is very often just enough.
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