Today marks the seventh anniversary of my mother’s passing.
I had retired on January 1 and was there for mom’s final days. She thanked me for coming back home to her.
Miss you mom!
Mother, don’t worry. I’ve got a coat and some friends on the corner
Mother, don’t worry. She’s got a garden we’re planting together
Mother, remember the night that the dog had her pups in the pantry?
Blood on the floor and the fleas on their paws,
And you cried ’til the morning.
So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten
Sons are like birds flying always over the mountain
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Kh09MuIfIU
“Sons are like birds flying always over the mountain”
That lyric reminds me of what Kahlil Gibran had to say on the subject of children:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
[…]
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
I have no doubt your mom was the stablest of bows, and I know for a fact that her arrows flew swiftly and far. Peace and condolences. Hugs.
I’ve always liked Gibran and this one is no exception. Thanks for sharing it with me and for your kind words…I know you know how it feels.