I'm pretty sure you all know I'm from a huge family - oldest of seven. My Mother is the strongest 60-something year-old you'll ever meet. She can use a pick-axe as if she learned the skill on chain gang, cook for 60 people and still be smiling when she eats, teach grandchildren to read and still throw a party because it's Tuesday. I think she's the most naturally happy person on the planet.
Did I mention that in addition to being our own small community, we've all chosen to remain close to our familial roots for one reason or another...all except my youngest brother Z. He packed on Saturday and left this morning for the great state of Washington. While I'm excited for him it caught me off guard and really surprised me to hear my sweet, strong Mamma sobbing into her 22-year old son's shoulder. Anybody in the room could tell her heart was breaking just thinking about how far away he's going to be.
As exhilarating as I think this adventure is for my brother, an enormous chunk of my heart - the mom part - identified with her. As I stood there snapping pictures, I wondered what it would be like when one of my little bains left home. Will I be strong enough to just be sad? Will I allow myself to cry in public? Will I try to gloss over my pain in shadow of their anticipation? While I don't have to formulate my plan today, I do have to put it on my radar screen.
That train is headed my way, whether I like it or not.