What can I do but hope, at the end of the day, that the memories of play inside a sun dappled sand box linger longer than those of a mother who sometimes clouded over? What can I do but hope, that the laughter on a tire swing spinning round and round lingers louder than the shouting of a mother pacing the floor as her own demons wage against her for control and for a moment, maybe two, she is losing the battle?
What can I do but hope, at the end of a month, that the sharing of moments stolen and conversations over meals, make up for irritations borne in a sudden mood twisted out of wife’s control? What can I do but hope, at the end of a year, that the experiences of a building lifetime are more good than bad, that the pros continue to outweigh the cons, that such a list is never even begun to be written!
I mean, really? What can I do?
I can grow.
The process of growth is anguish.
Sitting still is the Pain we know. The Same that we are accustomed to. The familiar Ache that we can expect and for which we have developed coping mechanisms.
We know we should get better. But there is no way to grow that does not hurt.
I can stretch my legs and feel already sore muscles groan. I can stand, feebly perhaps, to my feet as my body demands the rest it thinks it deserves. One hand to sore back I can take one more step forward. It may complain, but my body will move. They may ache but my feet will carry me. I may be tired, but I am strong. This is what growth looks like.