abme So today Beanie has embarked on a new adventure - School.
All set in her little uniform. Hair in a pony tail, bangs clipped to the side. White and pink sneakers - not a scuff to be seen. Tinker Bell lunch bag filled with all her favorites - peanut butter sandwhich, carrots, chocolate pudding, juice and a special napkin note tucked inside - just to let her know I was thinking about her and how much I loved her.
It was two day’s before she was due. My husband and I were in her perfect purple room, looking around one last time to be sure everything was just right for her arrival. Just before we left, I stopped and stared at this empty crib. I let all the emotions of anticipation fill within me. If I close my eyes, I am right back at that moment.
I looked at my husband and said: “She’s going to be here soon. She’s going to be sleeping right here!”
Now, like a big girl, she’s at school. I’m crying because my first born is off being a big girl. She’s growing. She’s learning. She’s starting her life. I can no longer be there every minute for her. I can’t put the bandaide on her when she falls. I won’t be there when she finds something funny. I am not able to share in her daily experiences.
My tears are filled with a certain sense of sadness. I am sad for myself. For the years that have passed.
Beanie is not sad though. She is more excited than anyone could ever imagine. She could not wait to go through those doors, down that shiny hall and be a part of her class.
For all the mothers out there this week sending off their little “Beanies” here is a poem from Khalil Gibran. Read it. Let the words wash over you. For you, as a mother, are the bow and your child is truly the arrow.
gibran-arrow And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said,
“Speak to us of Children.”
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
Khalil Gibran
