Monday Night

For David, Annie, and myself, it’s a time of transition; transition as a family and also as individuals. David needs to break free of himself and take risks, and he began the process, symbolically, by getting a labyrinth tattooed on one arm, and a spiral on the other. The labyrinth symbolizes never- ending life, and a reminder that one is constantly moving through it, to the center and back out again. The spiral symbolizes, among many other things, expansion of consciousness. Aside from the tattoos being meaningful to David and something he has given much consideration, I think they’re cool and make him look like a rocker.

We recently received two letters from Annie, both written on the same day. In one she talked about how great camp was, in the other she called me “Mama,” drew pictures of herself crying, and begged to come home early. Needless to say when I read that letter I was heartbroken, but when the lioness in me is compelled to rescue her cub, I stop myself and remember how important all of this is for her.

On Saturday morning we spoke to Annie for the first time since she’s been gone, (1 week). The minute she heard my voice she burst into tears and sobbed. On speakerphone we told her how much we loved and missed her, and after a while she began talking about all the things that made her happy at camp, which was just about everything. For her to feel independence and freedom, to be on her way to becoming all of who she is, is a magical thing. I am painfully aware that along with that kind of growth comes discomfort, confusion and sometimes suffering, things that are almost unbearable to watch your child experience. It would have been so much easier for me to keep her home, away from unfamiliar horses and deep water, here with bedtime books from Daddy and lullabies from me. But aside from her tears, I see what a gift she is getting. She can spend her mornings joyfully riding through miles of green trails, and hot afternoons swimming in the clear lake. She can then return to the quiet of her room and know what it’s like, in those moments, to feel her heart ache, to miss home and want desperately to be in the loving arms of her mother and father. But when the dinner bell rings, she’ll be with her friends again, sharing a meal, cracking a joke and reflecting on the day. She's learning what it is to be alive, and to feel all of it.

Annie was brave to go and David and I were brave to allow her. She will be transformed by this experience but not without paying a price. David took a risk when he decided that doing something radical, something completely out of character, was more important than continuing down the same safe road he’d always traveled. I am taking a risk as well, and sometimes it fills me with hope and excitement, other times it terrifies me and makes me want to dig my heels into the ground and stay where I am forever. But I won’t, I can’t, because after 43 years I am still on the path to becoming all that I am, and I will pay the price for that, I will.