Clutching sand

I don’t want to hear only the fringes of what you say. I don’t want to see only the specks of light that my eyes favor. I want to hear and see and feel it all. Because it is fleeting. We are clutching sand.

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He cups his hands and stares intently at the swiftly sliding grains. The pressure of a wave steals what he is trying so hard to hold. “I’m looking for coquinas, Mama.”, he says.

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My eyes are searching for the slivers of lilac and cameo in this moment too. And a lead wave hits me. It pulls relentlessly as I try to lock up the moment that I’m turning over in my mind. The beauty of this tide that I now stand in is being able to watch and shape these boys every day. I see every minute. The challenge is in molding their future selves- equipping them for a world they will one day be forced to greet; while I mourn the days we leave behind.

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For my daily task is to make certain that they can walk on their own two feet; to ensure they can walk away.

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There it is- the joy in the mourning; the life and loss standing side by side. The work of building something that you are meant to give away. The work of growing something that really isn’t yours, but rather that is in your care.

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Grasping sand while a force much stronger than you is pulling all the beautiful bits of color, forward and out of reach.

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But we get to feel it, don’t we? We get to hold it in our hands. The precious grains, the gathering of luminous life, the momentary hold of something precious. A wave comes. And it’s in the slipping away; in the brevity, that we learn to appreciate what we hold today.