Bicycling home in the rain. Not fun. At least it was warm.
Earlier this week as Kim and I were flipping through the TV channels we paused at an episode of Brothers and Sisters. Sally Fields portrayed a mother; Calista Flockhart, her daughter. During one portion of the show, mother and daughter were in bed together while the mom cradled and comforted the adult daughter. I frowned at my husband and said something like, "Women that age don't behave like that."
Kim replied, "Oh... I could see you and Vanessa having such a moment."
Now I shake my head, thinking, "When did I think I got so tough?"
Yesterday I found myself in my daughter's apartment, resting in bed with her. For my own peace of mind I needed to be with her. Vanessa had been through the kind of night everyone dreads. I kept my hand on her arm as reassurance of her continuing physical presence on this earth and in my life.
I don't doubt that I was affected by the sudden death earlier this month of the teenage daughter of an acquaintance. I was stricken when I heard the news. It's always a shock, how quickly life can turn around. And it is so easy for me to try to build a shell around myself, attempting some insulation against life's troubles.
But that never really works.
The truth is I'm terrified. Terrified of losing the ones I love. Because they can never be replaced. And the resulting hole would be larger than I can comprehend.
There is nothing special about me and my loved ones. Nothing that protects us from all sorts of tragedy. Writing that down actually helps. There is nothing I can do to guarantee our safety or happiness. My job is to love and cherish the people I love, while I am able.