I sit, my back leaning into a pillow of support, while I sink into the low laying mattress beneath me. It’s quiet. A beautiful contrast from the day that is now behind us. Baby Robyn of 11 months drinking the sweet nourishment of my breast milk. Completely in flow with my body as he harmoniously takes one swallow after another. His hand resting strongly beneath my excessive breasts. His feet bare and exposed from the blanket. He hugs my body with every morsel of his toes, wrapping himself fully around me.
I love it.
His sister, sweet all nurturing strongly directing Bobby drifting into a hopeful sweet dreaming sleep. She nestles in close, body language speaking of safety. security. a bond of stability.
My work as a mother feeling fulfilled, but thankfully not done.
As the birthing day of Robyns arrival approaches, I begin to feel gratitude and pockets of insight. Tears rise up in me, like the ocean tides to peak…. and release.
Looking back now the temperance and fragility of life was making itself known. A distant truth that usually tucks itself into the shadows of our daily life.. I didn’t have the strength to entertain and imagine all the possibilities painted for us. I was too vulnerable to fear, and so aware of it’s power to rip me apart and make me crumble by its innate force. The will in me was strong and unwilling to give into its steady pull. I had to hold on to the present. The portal of hope, holding onto every piece of beauty, of Robyn that there was. The future was way too unknown. Here and now, that was a guarantee. He was in our life. For that time being. That felt delicate. So, I reached beyond this physical plane for answers and for security. I kept my ear and vision turned toward the tiny whisper within ... the certainty that Robyns spirit was strong. The one that’s found reflected in the sparkles, like stardust when you look close enough and lean in deep enough.
Truth revealed it self, that Robyn wasn’t meant for that hospital or extra support for long. He replied, every time I reached out to him. I remember saying “Robyn I just don’t want to leave your side tonight. Are you going to be okay?” “Yes mama, go take a bath and look after yourself. I'll be right here in the morning. Snuggle close to dad. Just don’t take too long getting back.” He’d say.
I needed him. His whisper. His strength. His truth and guidance to light my way.
As time has gone on I can look back. I feel safe now. Robyn is apart of our our lives. When we rest our heads at night he’s beside us. When we wake to a new day, he’s right there. Full of vigor and strength and willingness for life.
I had to place my focus beyond this realm. This unseen and subtly sensed knowing that he was more ready than us to make his way out of the hospital. He helped strengthen my spiritual muscle. An intimate truth of growth, one for those quiet enough to listen and brave enough to share.
The awakening sense in all of this is knowing we experienced a circumstance where life’s fragility was taking physical shape in our life through the existence of our son Robyn but the truth is we all live our days in this unknown terrain.
I pray I may live them awake and undistracted from what really matters.
As the holiday season comes so near, my wish is that you can hold your loved ones close. Pause plenty. Sit and look often. Amidst lighting the candles, preparing the nourishment and clearing the plates. Be more than you do. Find the courage inside of you (its always there) to choose love, over fear… you always can. It’s your will that holds the power. Speak your heart and show up open for you never truly know how life’s magic will (and it always does) manifest.
