How can it be that I am shadow of my old self, yet an entire
different being, bright and new?
How is it possible that I can be ashamed of my scarred and
soft body, yet stand in awe at the power and strength it possesses? How can it
be that my once quick and strong, yet clumsy hands have become gentle and
tender – my athletic body has transformed into a sleep-deprived dance of grace,
with limbs loose and waving in desperation for a moment of rest.
My scheduled-to-the-minute days have turned into to a Helter
Skelter collection of yawns and giggles and tears and quick glances and long
stares that hold the whole world and heaven in my living room. My days drag by,
but time slips past me, quicker and quicker as I grasp frantically after it. I
am overcome by weakness and shortcomings, but have a deep and resounding might
that exhausts and invigorates me.
My name. It has been on the lips and in the ears and in
prayers and on papers in the hands of teachers and professors, coaches, peers,
lovers, friends, family, and strangers. It has been lost in the cracks of the
floor, and yet hung on a banner that blows in the fierce winds of change, as it
takes shape into a foreign, yet natural identity:
Mother.
I wish I could write like you! Love this post!
ReplyDeleteI agree! This reads like poetry. I love you Julia :)
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. Just beautiful, like you
ReplyDelete