I was watching my little girl as I pushed her on the swings, the happiness across her face with each push as she yelled, “higher”.
It’s so beautiful opening up completely to someone else.
Even on the days the roof of yourself is caving in, the flowers around you are blooming because someone loves you.
Someone is there to build you up.
That started for me before I had any real memories,
with my own mother.
Her season.
And as we grow we learn how to build ourselves back up.
We don’t fall into arms as often.
We unfold instead.
Because you let your everything go, so they can find their something, that’s love.
And I know that, looking back.
Truthfully nothing has cracked me open the same way as the love for my children.
A full circle.
I don’t know what it’s like to let go, not yet, we’re still in the season of little hands on faces and “mummy, miss you’s”.
Oh to be missed when they’re in your arms.
Loves truest feeling.
I started to watch her legs find the motion of back and forth and realised even my swing pushing days were numbered.
It happens slowly.
I started thinking of my mother and all the little heart breaks, all the giving.
I took my hand off her back, maybe she’d still feel it there, like I do.
She was always going to touch the sky without me.
Maybe she’ll know what I mean one day.
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