As I write this post my fatigue has tossed my adrenalin into the sea of forgetfulness.
I am sitting on an airplane, just one hour from my southeast destination, and almost seven from when I boarded a plane with two of my children, in the Pacific Northwest.
I have personally had only about an hours rest in the past twenty-four hours, and I am weary beyond words.
My daughter and son have finally found rest … One slumped over at the window, and the other weighing heavily on my shoulder.
As the adrenalin has faded away, as planning and packing and preparations have given way to fulfillment of our plans, my thoughts have turned to how very fragile life is.
In recent days, as I have become aware of the death of a gentle man, of the tragedy of preschoolers left in life without a mommy and a daddy, of the heartbreak of a couple (and all their family) dealing with the news that the dreams of health and long life that they have had for their yet born baby will not be as dreamed …
the high levels of adrenalin have not allowed these events to pierce my heart …
until now.
Life is fragile.
Having had these two children of mine lay their heads on my shoulder in as many hours, turning towards the tops of their heads, inhaling the scents that are uniquely their own, reminiscing in my mind of the many times we have traveled together since their births, fatigued, frustrated and even infected by flu bugs …
I remember
how very blessed I am,
how very short life is.
how very fragile life is.
According to every source I checked (there were many), women under 35 years only have a 20-30% chance of conceiving each month, and about half of all conceptions end in miscarriage (most before the woman knows that she is pregnant).
I remember the agonies of losses of little, yet born babies, I remember vowing that those losses would not be in vain. I remember promising each of our children as I held them in my arms in different hospitals, in different cities, even different provinces, that I would not forget how very blessed I am to have the chance to be their mom …
that ‘mom’ would be more than a noun,
a title,
that mom would be a verb,
ACTION.
That I would not just ‘be called’ mom
I would be mom to them …
mom in action
LOVE in action.
As our newborns grow up to independent thinking teenagers, we forget to inhale, and drink in the scent that is uniquely theirs. We forget how just holding their newborn body in our arms brought us to tears, how the sight of their smile made us smile, how nothing mattered more to us than protecting our babies.
As parents of teenagers we need to get physically close enough to drink in that scent, we need to hold them close, we need to look at them, and smile … we need to protect our kids.
Or maybe, if we hold them close, if we can be still enough to be brought to tears just by holding them in our arms, if we smile at them … every day, maybe that will be a protective barrier around them, around their hearts.
Life is a miracle!
Life is fragile.
Love in action!
Vancouver Winter Olympics.
Hum, this is a little awkward, but this guest post might be a little too … gritty for some of you.
As an adult, I am still not so good at memorizing.
Well, I got your attention, didn’t I?
Ann deals inwardly, and then with words, with the plight of too many young women around the world. She deals with the need for revolutionary change, and where that change can be birthed. She deals with the message of the world (one of good intentions … but … without … love) and with the message of the power of gratitude, of love … in making the change.
itsawonderfilledlife 