Summer slows and I find I am finally slowing, too, refusing the miss out on these last twenty-something days.
I’m not the same. The winter woman was reborn, sprung to life, and fills all the crevices of this new skin.
I drink my iced coffee black now, and with a shot of espresso to keep up a youthful appearance.
I reapplied to nursing school in an act of finding my way–and I am hopeful.
I hit a goal I had never written down, and see the door of change offering its key to me.
I placed boundaries around children I haven’t loved them perfectly,
We’ve battled but learned how to stay on the same team.
I’ve claimed my own bedroom with windows facing east–sunrise over the river–it’s the smallest in the house and I feel at home.
I’ve received the pain of gossip and woke up to the truth that not everyone will know me, see me, or perceive me in the ways I hope. And I now guard my own words carefully.
I keep smaller, safer circles–going deeper within those friendships.
I’ve learned to receive a friend’s truthful observations without recoiling as though criticism; and I have grown because of their bravery and wisdom.
I’ve provided for kids,
and lived by strengths.
and embraced habits.
I’ve made peace with the fact that I don’t cook like I used to, and sometimes I don’t even miss it.
I’ve stepped into a church and returned–again and again,
I let the old visions of my future crumble, and rearrange themselves in this kaleidoscope of life.
I look back at the woman I was for the last fifteen years of life and I thank her for her service–for the the way she loved her children, created a home, supported her spouse in his endeavors. I thank her for her mornings of coffee and her passion for women. I thank her for the dreams she set aside to serve others. I forgive her for her silence. I forgive her for her blindness. I forgive her for her inability to live longer than she did.
And as I lay her to rest, I hope to honor her by bringing the best parts forward into this new season, this new life, and may her voice echo every once in a while through the pen on the page.