My first born - the prize winning moment that transformed my life into the purpose I was created for - left the nest years ago. But still, when she wed the man of her dreams, it was never more pronounced and final than then. Her book continues to be written while mine is already into the next volume, compiling a collection of tragedies, triumphs, and mostly average adventures. Hers is one I am anxious to read, since the beginning chapters were so hard to put down.
Happy life to my all growed up little Shani-shine, I am so proud of you and I will love you beyond forever!
Another up all night - night. Not rocking my baby to sleep, but trying to unravel the turmoil of my teenage daughter... is it ever going to get easier? The response is always - it could be so much worse, never that it could be so much better. When did it happen that my perfect child became someone who should settle for less of herself and me who should accept it? A Mother's love accepts all but hopes and guides towards what is better. Did my Mom do that for me? I know she cried tears over my life and her own - mostly the failures, not the triumphs. I felt like such a disappointment - but now I know why she cried and how she must have loved me and how much I must have made her suffer without realizing it. I'm not crying for my daughter and what is just the beginning of a complicated and emotionally charged life. For now I cry for my Mommie and all the Moms who are misunderstood and who do have it so much worse...and thank God that for now, I am not among them.
I have a story to tell, and eventually it will be something everybody will want to hear. Isn't that what we all hope for since we are writing the inner most thoughts and opinions about life - mostly ours, (how boring), and thinking that we are making a difference somehow? Maybe a difference only to me - my audience for now and for now the most important, since I am the only one listening.
