Waking up, I’m trying to locate the memory of where I am. Opening my eyes, it’s a blessing. I’ve had this recurring inflammation of my eyelids which had made me contemplate even more how fragile the body could be when out of balance. I see my little guy, Michael, sleeping softly cuddled in white sheets, comforter, and three pure white, big pillows. Slipping out gently out of the covers, I take my phone, my prayer book, and head towards the upstairs loft in this little red house.
We are here for the weekend, just four hours away from home, in Woodstock, New York. It is our first time here, in this sweet place, tucked in on a stream, so comfy, so inviting and so perfectly arranged to meet three of us, I and my two boys, Daniel and Michael, age 13 and 10. This is our first vacation after the divorce. It is definitely a big step, for me, for them, facing a different reality, not better or worse, just different.
I climb the stairs to the spacious loft, and I find myself sitting on my mat, facing a small window, seeing the sky at dawn, pale blue. I take some time to breathe, reflect. Last night unraveled so much, untangled so many heartstrings, which were tied so tight together, in knots, in each one of us. The tears, the sweet words, the memories, the tender holding loosened up the tightness in our hearts.
My awareness brings me back to now. I sit, I breathe. Right at this moment, I don’t know. I feel I have lost the ground underneath my seat. I no longer know how to do this, mothering thing. Am I enough? Will it be OK?
I come back to my breath. I hear the birds singing, the stream flowing. I start my prayers. It is a new day. And all of a sudden, I remember, vividly. As we were driving on the highway yesterday morning, this beautiful shade of red Mercedes ahead of the lane to my right, with a plate that read, “ Be Love”. The only thing I will be today, and always, is to be love. All else will be taken care of. I trust.