I woke up minutes before he did, and was lucky enough to simply watch him breath. I could tell he was still dreaming by the small movements his eyes insisted on making underneath his delicate eyelids. I can still see the scar made by my fingernail on his left eye, when I scratched his brand new skin which was only a few hours old, the branding of a new mother, if you will. I notice that his hair has grown long already and wonder if it's possible that he has grown 3 inches in as many months. How did we both get here? I watch him lay still, because it's such a novel thing, to see my energetic son, who moves at the speed of light leaving a trail of giggles and dirt, remain peaceful and still. His eyes wince open too soon and he sighs, arching into me, ceding dreams to daytime. He blinks and watches me, strangely wordless, and I wonder, for a brief moment, if my whole life was designed to lead me to that moment. It had to be, yet how could it be. We stretch and start the day.
********************
We ache and groan and lace up our skates because at this point, each practice is another mile closer to the end of a long marathon season. We have intentions of showing up consistently, but fatigue, families and injuries have gotten the best of us, yet we show up when we can, embattled warriors. We are tired. We are over committed and we have sacrificed so many things to be here; most of which are owed to the ones we love. But there are new skaters to train and a coach to respect and a vow to keep to one another. It is one of those things you continue to do when you love a sport. So we show up. And once we are warmed up and our aches fade away, we allow ourselves the opportunity to leave stress behind, sometimes only for minutes at a time. We pull one another, we push one another, we skate, stop, break, jump and we trust one another. When you trust one another, you take risks and allow yourself to be great. I know my derby sisters feel the same because I see it in their eyes that meet mine during a break or across the track and I feel connected to them in ways that I will never quite be able to let go and I wonder, for another brief moment, how in the world I am ever going to give this up. Yet somehow I have to, maybe not now, but soon.
********************
I wander through my house, silently, and silently note that it still doesn't always feel like it's mine. It is frequently empty, sometimes noisy, always messy but full of life and full of things I have chosen for myself but I still sometimes feel disconnected from it all. I look at this new life that I have carefully yet unconsciously crafted for myself in two short years. I used to be a wife. Now I am not. However I remain connected to many other things, things that matter. There is a small-ish house with painted cinder blocks and strange angles that has heard laughter and music and felt love greater than I thought possible at this point in my life. There is a vehicle I have always wanted to own, which really costs me too much money, but certainly soothes my soul and gives me a sense of autonomy that was missing for many years. There is a backyard with a tree that is ripe for climbing and a garden where I might one day plant roots and a giant tree out front that will one day house a swing. There is a dream job that I usually end up figuring out, on most days, albeit with lots of coffee, support from colleagues and a sense of humour. And there are friends who have become the family that I have gotten to choose. And lately I wonder, even on the loneliest of nights, how I ever got so lucky in life.
:)
ReplyDelete