These are things we find ourselves leaving behind: Expectation. Predictability. Bits and pieces of our innocence. Shards of glass and glitter, tears. Muddy paw prints and footprints in the sand. Cleverly crafted up-cycled projects, growing soggy in the rain. Eggshells, gingerly tiptoed upon two days ago. Bibles, crappy novels, wallets on bus seats. Our very essence, some days.
And then we do our very best to return our gaze through the front windshield, recognizing that the past is a tiny reflection seen in our rear view mirror, when we bother looking up from our screens. The egg shells don’t matter. Yet thinking, in those forward-facing moments–aren’t I clever, wasn’t that a smart decision, world, look at me. And watching it all swirl away in one shit-storm of tears and realization. Forward and backward, forward and backward. I wish I could perch myself on the fulcrum of life: balanced, in reverent silence, content.
My boy is a being all his own, fitting neither here nor there but always finding an enormous room in my heart, where he folds up inside me seeking safety, comfort, belonging. He does that a lot lately. He has a limitless imaginative soul, tuned in to Mother Earth in a way I can only dream of, energized by her quiet, unrelenting beat. When he was still in my womb, I read a book about Eustace Conway, a man who belonged to the woods, because it was most where he needed to be. We toyed with the idea of naming our son Forest. I often think Malcolm is much like Eustace, as if my own reading of that book lit his spirit on fire nearly nine years ago. I often think too much, if you ask me.
I fast-forward a lot with Malcolm, perhaps out of necessity, perhaps to find respite from the struggle. I try to keep my eyes peering out the windshield, eyes on the horizon. I remind myself to run the wipers, turn on the defrost, see the future down the highway. Forward is the only direction worth heading, and I owe it to him (and myself, frankly) to carry on.
This journey–leaving behind, picking up the pieces, rebuilding, loving, learning, holding space, holding hearts–it’s unrelenting. It is exhausting. It is empowering, mind-numbing, and heart expanding all at once. I’m so tired, and yet, I remind myself to continue onward, upward (and maybe sideways, from time to time, buoyed by a glass of wine, a line of chocolate). Courageous warriors, all of us.