the sands of time slip right along. my last baby turned one today. i say last as though i’ve had many of them. there are only two little ones that own my heart. as much as i adore them, i can’t imagine having any more. it isn’t as though i couldn’t or wouldn’t love another- it is just, i adore my two so much, they each hold my heart in their tiny, ever growing hands, squeezing as they flex their muscles, as they exert who they are onto this life. i can’t imagine adoring another, which doesn’t mean i couldn’t, i just think that that much love, in one person, would surely destroy anyone. full of so much adoration, one would have to overflow. it’s the dam that has to burst.
i guess i’m not the typical parent. then, i’m not the typical human. i just love my kids so much i cry just thinking about the love sometimes. i savor every second (some less than others, i can’t deny. screaming and disobedience plague my house as well…)i can’t articulate my thoughts well right now, and i’m sure that sounds like i need a pill or something, right?
i watch other parents, doing what they think and feel is right. or, perhaps, just existing until this stage is over. or, perhaps, never caring to see that spark, that deeper level, that is beyond caring for the necessities of parenthood – food, clothing, shelter, space. isn’t that some psychological needs pyramid or something? they grant their kids the necessities, and leave it up to the kids to figure out the icing, the color and flavor, the clarity that makes life worth living. they spend their moments in escape – on the internet, gaming or social networking (Guilty!!), working without ceasing, mindless in front of the television – i think, because their lives are so empty from the pursuit of happiness? survival? consumerism? the lean mean green (not eco-style!) american dream? i think fitzgerald had it all right… that pursuit can only destroy what you love. and in this case, it is the family, the children, the future generations. i wish we all could just stop, now, and savor each other, our families, and this earth, for what it could produce in our hands, rather than in the mechanized claws of industrialization we’ve decided are necessary for “efficiency.”
i sometimes think i must be destined to die early, because i just feel so much older than everyone else. in the past, i’ve felt like screaming out, “but see, see, LOOK. this here – THIS is what it is all about. cherish THIS. forget all you’ve been taught, fed. it’s just an illusion. it’s just a wall put between you and what is really important. what is really real in this life – people, each other.” i know that sounds like raving lunacy. which is why i’m convinced i’m so much older than everyone else. that and i’m past the point of feeling like shouting, and more to the point of feeling sad that everyone else is missing out on so much.
i know everyone has to be free to live as they wish, and everyone has to come to these conclusions on their own – you can’t buy the wisdom that painful experience grants, at least not and have it retain its quality. but that, i believe, is the base of it all – humans treasure quantity, some value of more-ness, where even “quality” is defined as having more of something than another has… more leather, more amenities, more sparkle, more shine, more cost. the things that have enriched my life have been, perhaps not free, but not directly resulting from more-ness, from some material purchase. i can’t buy my daughter’s sweet smile, or my son’s giggle. i may have to pay to keep them alive, to shelter them and care for them. i know everything has a cost… but those things, that make life valuable, that are pure and sweet, have no price tag, but my time and my input, my putting myself in and connecting to them on their level. it is all a cliche, and it has been said before, but it is all so true. people are beautiful, broken beings, and children just shine, wanting someone, anyone to see them. many parents are too caught up in _____ (fill in the blank) that they never see those crying out for connection, until it’s too late and the children have built walls around themselves, and turned into beautiful, broken adults, screaming on the inside, and trying to quiet it all with diversions, and american dreams. we are the disease, we are the cure. we are.
this is a huge digression from the anniversary of my daughter’s birth. but these are my thoughts as i end the last first birthday of one of my children. the sands of time slip past. please, make the most of every grain.
