October 2013
October 2006
Almost seven years ago, our little girl turned 9 months on her first Halloween. In 2006, we lived in Houston. I lived in-between bottles, burp cloths, and legal documents. I called myself a mother and a lawyer. Feisty and vocal, our daughter spent much of her time crying. I juggled so many moments. Some I remember with clarity. The first moment she rolled over is a part of my highlight reel. When she took her first steps, everything felt new, happy, and right with the world. In my sleepless seconds, I focused on hurrying through everything and ignored how much the now is where my attention should focus. My visits with loss were only the cursory kind that happened only to other people. I held on tight to what I knew.
Now. It is 2013. Our daughter is on the edge of eight. We live in Arizona. I live in the pages of school drop-offs and pick-ups, answering endless questions from my daughter, and blank pages that I hope to fill with meaningful words. I call myself a mother and a writer. Inquisitive and sensitive, our daughter spends much of her time fully aware of her emotions and ready to jump in with a zeal only a child exhibits. She loves with power. It is a love that is tangled with kindness, unconditional heart, and one that can swallow you whole. Each of her discoveries is a revealing moment.
I am different. Now is an important mantra that threads it ways into my days. When I feel hurry sliding down my skin, I stop, reflect, and say, now. I know the pendulum exists. We all shift between happiness and sadness and in this swing the ordinary is filled with the most wonder. The seconds that appear as so mundane, of course, are the ones that are paramount. I am well aware of the cliché, that life can change in instant. It has happened twice in the last seven years. Both centered on loss and propelled me to clench tighter and bear down, but gave way to realizing that eventually one must let go.
As we celebrate our daughter’s seventh Halloween, I hurl into the reality that in seven more years she will begin her teenage years. We will not accompany her door-to-door while she trick-or-treats. Her love will be directed in new directions. Toward her friends, her independence, and her need to define herself by what she knows instead of what her parents tell her. I still hold on, but it is punctuated with the knowledge, that all of it, needs to give way to letting go.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
Life is all about letting go, isn’t it? I suppose that just gives more importance to living in the present.
Yes, it is. A lesson I am learning everyday through big and small moments.
What a beauty you have on your hands, Rudri! How lucky she is to have a mother who knows the value of these fleeting moments of childhood – and the ability to record them so well in words. xo
Thanks, Kristen. I think about this digital scrapbook that I am creating for her and how much joy we will both feel revisiting some of these memories.
Time flies so fast, without looking seven years ahead – I do it all the time and always have. Suzicate is wise to point out the importance of living in the moment – some advice I could and should take to heart.
I love your daughter’s costumes, especially the glasses. When I was 7, I really wanted a pair just like that.
I think we all want to embrace the present, but it takes a concerted effort to push for that awareness. I try, but I also falter. Writing about helps me redirect my energy into sinking in the current moment.
What a great message. All you have is tied up in the present moment! The empty nest (closer than you think) will be much easier for you.
Barbara,
Welcome! I am glad my words resonated with you. I am not certain about empty nest, but I do know that each of these milestone moments with my daughter are ones that need my whole and present heart.
She is beautiful and so are your words.
As always, Ayala, I appreciate your kind words. xoxo
Wonderful post and reflection of both your daughter and you. Halloween/trick-or-treating is an appropriate and powerful image for letting go. I too reflected this year on our first trick-or-treating. It was just my husband, me and our son then. A year later we joined two other families. This year, my phone was buzzing with calls and texts – my son and his friends had already made arrangements to meet up and were making last minute changes and confirmations. We as parents followed, though one mother said to me, “[My son] told me I didn’t need to come this time.” The boys charged ahead with an energy and speed that is now well beyond us. I noticed the older children who were out on the streets, without parents, and I wondered if maybe this will be my son and his friends in a year or two.
I hope you had a good Halloween!
I haven’t reached the stage where my daughter makes plans yet, but I know it will come soon. It is so jarring when the ordinary forces us to confront and accept how much we let go.
I hope Fred had a great time asserting his independence!
She looks full of joy. Good job, mama!