Someone in the house across the street died this morning. I watched as they wheeled them out on the stretcher, cold and covered up with a blue blanket in the freezing rain. Like you see on TV, but this was real life. The kids played at my feet, unaware and oblivious to truths such as death and sorrow. They are full of beginnings, life, and wonder, as it should be.
I'm feeling rather down tonight. Lots of big feelings I'm not sure where to put or how to process. Again, this is real life. Or so I'm learning. Again. I made soup and we broke bread, just the four of us. The routine of life with tiny humans teeters between well-worn path and mind-numbing rut, but tonight it felt like we were right in the pocket, the rhythm felt nice and full of comfort.
Tonight, putting Beatrice to bed, I lay down next to her and sang our songs. She struggled to settle, so I stayed a little while longer than usual. Out of nowhere she reached for my hand to hold, settled it against her chest and said, "Sure do love being with you, Mama."
And just like that, I remember all will be well. Come what may, all will be well.