I want to know their handwriting.
I want to sit at our dining table, long after the last bite of dessert has been eaten and the sky is dark and star-filled and I want to hear them laugh; telling me stories of their shared experiences and diverging memories of growing up in our family.
I want to hear them tell me about how life should be.
I want to see what they choose. And I want to hear, in their words, their inspiration and reasoning.
I want to let them go, yet still be there, ever so gently, but ever presently praying them on.
I want them to fly.
I want to protect them from every failure, every heartbreak, every bump in the road.
And I will hold them, as I did when they were babies, if not in my arms, forever and always in my heart.
I want to watch their passions develop and see what they do with their gifts.
I want to learn from them.
I want to wave to them as they pull out of my driveway thinking that I truly have no idea... since I'm so old and out of touch.
I want to be in their mind and hearts when they hold their first newborn and realize that I did have an idea... because they are where I once was and they now can understand and feel this love that I feel for them. A mother's love.
I want them to grow up, grow into their lives and grow into themselves.
I want them to sit at the table, with their grown babies, and listen to them, long after the last bite of dessert has been eaten and the sky is dark and star-filled and I want them to hear their babies' laughing...
"When life presents you with reasons to cry,
demonstrate that you have a thousand and one reasons to laugh."
-A painting I saw this morning.
(Loosely translated by me)