Someday I’ll be a white-haired lady talking with friends or gazing out a window alone with my thoughts. My conversation and thoughts are sure to center around moments when my life was busy with little people who called me Mom. Among the everyday moments, other memories will float to the surface and demand my attention above the rest. The highlights will be the clutch moments, the pivotal points in my children’s lives when a decision was made or a new ounce of courage was found. The moments I got to watch them become.
Those clutch moments are the same desires I dreamt about when my babies were growing inside me. My prayers were full of desire to be there when my kids needed me most. I was desperate to offer support and put the wind in their sails. The same moments I longed for at the beginning will be the exact ones sustaining me at the end.
What I didn’t see coming were the tears. My early dreams and the memories real life has given me bear many similarities; what they don’t share are all those tears. My dreams didn’t consider the ripping required for the butterflies to emerge from their cocoons. They didn’t compute the necessary tearing of muscles to make them grow strong.