My husband and I were talking at the dining table this afternoon. His firstborn son (from previous marriage) is joining the Army. As proud as he is, being a father that provides and cares, I can see a glimpse in his eyes that tells me that he just realized how time has flown. That little boy, chubby, helpful, blue-eyed boy, has blossomed into a fine handsome young man, finishing high school and filing up paperwork to serve his country. How time’s speed is just a blink of an eye.
I turned around and looked at my 7 year-old and wonder what God has in store for him. It wont be long until he drives, find a girl of his dream and fly away from my little nest. We build our life around this little guy and soon this too will end.
I’m not talking about neglecting grown-up children. It’s more about the feeling of letting go – which can be hard since you are letting go part of yourself, the little beings you have been nurturing, the ones who carry your hopes all along. I guess it’s easy to talk the talk but today, I am a bit feeling it. They will stumble, fall, love and cry, but those are all theirs. The nest will still be here, the loves, hugs and all, just in case they need to fly home.
My husband’s firstborn is spreading his wings.
This Gibran’s quote is one of my fave.
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 may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
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 our 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.
Kahlil Gibran (1883 – 1931)
PS: For Matt: Good luck on your new journey, man. PSS: For my husband: I love you, Hun.