The Cracks

I’ve always felt that time holds nothing on how fast we feel, how hard we fall and how deep love takes its root. Quickly our imagination carries us away, dreams are cast- often unable to be held back.  Through life’s moments, all the meaningful milestones I saw us together. Though only mere moments old still not fully here, lingering traces of the in between, heaven and earth. 

I felt reborn; as a Mother.

Then things began to crack, it started out small but overtime it split everything- all the dreams I had cast and moments I had imagined, and my heart too. I had to let them go- like water dripping off my fingertips. I knew it was in vain to try and hold them too tightly within my clenched fist.

To this day, I can feel the drip, drip, drip, triggered by simple things like hearing another child with your name, witnessing a sweet exchange within a mother and daughter, running my fingers through my niece’s hair. 

I traded the dream of tea parties for monster trucks, of sundresses and long swinging pigtails, for dirty knees and pitch covered hands.

The title of Mother that you so sweetly bestowed, it is my badge of greatest honor. I still feel the pain of dreams dreamt, that were not to be, but a dream reborn. 

My mind could not comprehend the goodness and blessing that can follow heartbreak, if we allow ourselves to drip drip, drip. 

Beauty blooms there amongst the cracks.

 

Village Journalist,

Amanda

Krystal Donovan1 Comment