Waking up to bits and pieces of yourself revealed in dreams as you find yourself wondering where did all the time go.
Your child is no longer a child but a young woman.
She is navigating through the ocean of relationship.
Her own ship, a tiny row boat with an oar gone. Yet she continues battling the waves as Hemmingway to his sea. Hers is not the battle of Captain Ahab to his Mobey rather a lonely fishing vessel coasting along the shores. The coast line within her reach, she is choosing not to moor.
I hug her tiny frame of a body. There is strength behind her shoulders. She struggles with the first embrace then settles in to my longing.
I want to be remembered as her mother. That is another dream.