Over the weekend I was listening to one of my favorite audio books, “What to Remember When Waking, The Disciplines of an everyday Life” by David Whyte. He tells this great story about a time he held his daughter in his arms. And in the moonlight, he watched her little palm open and close, as sometimes children’s palms do when they are falling asleep, and he noticed the lines in her hand.
He realized that in a way, those lines represented her future life and her future potential.
And that as well as he knew her in that moment, people in her future world might know her better than he ever did.
I feel the same way about James. I know as much as I can possibly know about him right now. What he likes to eat, how he sleeps, and what brings him joy. But the reality is, I will not be in his life forever. And I have to trust that the people who are with him when I’m gone, the friends he will have when he is forty or fifty, may know him better than I do.
There is such a great sadness in that thought, that it could easily make me spiral and bath myself in Tiramisu.
And I am aware that I am not alone in this fear, and that all parents with children probably feel the same way. But because James will likely not be able to care for himself completely, these future unknown life-helpers are on my mind and heart all the time.
We swam at a friend’s pool on Sunday. And watching James jump in the water never gets old. And that is the only way I stay away from the darkness. By knowing that in his future there will be a pool. And the ability to jump. Resulting in joy. This keeps me present and mostly away from sugar.
After I took this video, we snuggled on the patio furniture. He ate his pretzels and I stared at his palm. I ran my finger up and down his Palmar Crease.
And I said a prayer for the unknown life-givers, the yet-to-be-met friends, and for the person who will hold his hand when he is taking his last breath.
And I prayed that they will always take him to the pool, make sure he has Rold Gold (not Snyder’s) pretzels to eat, and mostly, to remind him how very much I loved him.