As The Patter Of Little Feet Become Footsteps Out The Door

It hit me all at once this weekend.

It’s nothing that I didn’t already know, nothing that I didn’t already feel.

Yet, it has overtaken me, as if by surprise.

Powerfully. Almost destructively.

Yet, somehow peacefully.

I still struggle to place the raw emotions in meaningful context.

I still want desperately to protect, to reach out my hand, to cleanse the wounds, to heal the hurts.

Yet here I stand, apart from them.

I can only watch as baby steps have become powerful strides.

Childhood fears replaced by eager confidence.

Now others, more often, stand in my place to cheer them on, to hold their hands, to move their hearts.

Dreams and hopes may change.

But from this point on, I’ll know only as much as they’ll permit.

Jobs, and exams, and papers, and lovers, and friends.

I watch all of this from the outside.

For there is no longer a need to share every frustration, every hurt, every sadness.

Or even every joy.

But I want them to know that they both still can.

That I will always listen.

That I am just a phone call or a text message away.

Yes, they are both, more or less, on their own now.

Yet I can’t help but remember the patter of little feet, feet that have now become footsteps out the door.

So I am proud, and grateful, and happy for them.

I also ache. If just a little.

But I also know that it’s okay.

For everything now is as it was meant to be from the beginning.

So be at peace, both of you.

Be at peace.

Peace

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