Dense fog covered the foothills this morning. It rolled over the ground in such billows I thought it might be fire. But it was love.
I used to wish I had the presence of mind to mark my calendar every time my daughter caught some bug so I could track the attacks each year. I would no longer be overwhelmed by the slog of sneezes and wheezes, sinus and ear infections, if I could see the enemy coming.
These days I would mark my calendar with something else. The days one of us shatters and breaks apart, loosens a scream or a slam, and we enter the fog of anger where neither of us sees a way out. We become each other’s enemy. Perhaps they are equally predictable.
What am I thinking? That I can outrun the trouble? Outsmart the pain?
As before, I wake my daughter every morning with a kiss.
“I sure do love you.”
“I love you too.”
My wounds are just stones in my shoe. Tiny, temporary, and easy to take care of. Not like the path ahead of this family, and this family, and this one, who are teaching me so much more about love and fog and waking each morning with a kiss.
“I’m worried about my friends walking to school,” she said as we entered a thick bank. I told her not to worry.
“When you are on the ground, you can see right in front of you. Not far, but just far enough to keep going.”
I am sure of nothing but this: I sure do love you. Love is the one thing for sure.
I hope you can make your way to Athens, Georgia this Saturday. It might be a far and long trip for both of us, but there will be love in return.
Love Beyond Limits parenting workshop in Athens, GA, Saturday, Oct. 22
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