I am sitting on the front step of our house, in the sun, writing this to you. It’s Sunday morning.
When I brought this house, at 22, I didn’t realise then that it was for you. That one day you’d be what filled it up, what pushed life into its every available space. You did the same with me.
The camellia tree, that was planted at the same time this house was built, some 80 winters, is filled with sparrows. These details; what it is to sit on the front step of the house you own, filled with the life you have made, watching sparrows dance; this is peace to me. That’s how I know I’ve done alright.
“It’ll be alright” was always the great standard of measure in my house growing up. And I use to feel somehow diminished, like things improving to the standard of just being alright was all there was to look forward to. But I see now, what my own Mother was teaching me was to have hope. To hold on to your hope and to let it lead you to where you are supposed to be. And that is the foundation I draw from everyday. It’s what brought me to this house and how you became my home.
I had no idea this was where I was going. And I am confounded with good fortune that it was here.
Thank you for bringing me home.
3 thoughts on “A Letter to My Children on Mother’s Day.”
So achingly beautiful babe. Thanks for letting us peek into your serenity. Happy Hot Mothers Day to you my love. Xx
Oh goodness! So much love! oxo