Every Friday we unite for five minutes to write on one word. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on tree.
One of my least favorite books to read to my kids is The Giving Tree. Filled with reminders of leaving, letting go, sadness, lonesomeness, and having to move on but being rooted in the ground, paralyzed by the memories.
All she wanted was to keep him a little boy, climbing and swinging, having fun and needing to be with her too. But he grew, and loved others, and left. He took and took from her and in the end, left her a stump, with nothing left to give.
We all do this with our kids, of course we give until there is nothing left in us but a fear, a fear that makes me stay up nights, or wake up in a cold sweat, is that at the end of this journey with the two little faces we put on earth, I will look at my future, have nothing left in me, be filled with a sadness that leaves me a tired old stump.
But today, I have little ones. I still have years of little noses and toes and smiles. I still have climbers and kids that want to swing and be small. Kids that want to laugh and play and grow with me. Kids that reach for me, that call for me, that make me feel mother.
It's tomorrow that I worry and wonder. My job is to make you go, raise you to the point of independence, get you out there to do your thing, it's my entire job. But, what if I end up that tired, empty stump.