June 10, 2004
I am enjoying myself.
Then, just as it gets to an emotionally tense part, and everything starts to move;
This has happened quite frequently through the years; a show missed, an outing set aside, cookies they preferred over mine own tastes, money set aside for their sake, their pleasure. Time. Energy. Money. Dreams.
I suppose I could label these "sacrifices". But they are not.
These are gifts to the ones I love; the one's that make my heart leap for no reason but I movement of their hands or the way they smile.
Or the way my daughter looked, curled up beside me, sleeping once more.
I looked at her face, and close up it seemed bigger than before, more adult, and in a few swift seconds I saw her, not as a five year old, but 10, 20, all grown up.
And I realized, what a gift I had given, not to her, but to myself.
Love is an action, I've always contended this. Feeling love is nothing but selfishness. But giving love? This is selfishness too; for in giving love we fill our own selves.
So here is a bit of prayer for myself today: G-d, please let my children bury me, and please, let me remember till my dying day, a smile they have smiled, a silly thing they have said, the way the spun around and let their dress fill out, how they played with such seriousness, or questioned life, or named their angles "Jeff and Tom". Let me see their faces when snow softened the world, and let me feel their arms around my neck, the mouths on my breast, and their breath mingling with my own.
There is happiness in these things, and if I forget all else, let me keep that, close to heart.