There is something holy about sharing chapters with our adult children.
For the last three weeks my youngest son, his lovely love, my pup, and cat, and I have spent time at my tiny place in Mexico. We have had Earl Grey tea with honey in the mornings, quiet hammock times of reading and writing (although I often feel that I am not quiet for long enough), cooked, made stuff, explored waterfalls and jungle paths, eaten fried chicken and goat stew - and more. We have brainstormed ideas for the new casita I am building here and talked about potential places our lives may decide to adventure.
There is, of course, a deep family-iarity. A whimsical symmetry. Love, too.
I see my son’s strong adult body and remember changing his last diaper. I see my own softening body and wonder what will happen if I ever need mine changed.
I know life is moving and if all goes well, I am closer to the end of mine than he to his.
I treasure this time when we are still both strong adults, interested in the world, participating in it, and dreaming up future plans.
I also know that this seeming balance is fragile, that it can tip in a moment through a word misunderstood, a tired remark, a sharp decision.
I have seen myself retreat from my mom in the last years of her life because I had to make a tough choice - and I see now, that she did too. We each chose our kid and in doing so, lost each other.
I pray that this never happens to me and I am humble enough to know that it could.
So yes, precious. Delicious. Holy.
So very darn holy.