Defying gravity.
(This post started out with a ruder title, but I didn't feel it did justice to the subject of this posting.)
Having them with us for the past Christmas week was always wonderful, occasionally stressful, a bit heartbreaking, but often hilarious...And, putting them on a plane this morning felt awful.
After dropping my folks off at the Long Beach Airport, I couldn't bear to just head home just right then, so I stalled and took my kids to a nearby favorite thrift store first.
There, I picked up a used Eva Cassidy CD I'd once heard was good. On the way home, we listened to Cassidy for the first time. Suddenly, upon hearing her version of "Imagine" I found myself unintentionally and inexplicably weeping into my steering wheel.
"That wasn't what I intended," I explained.
I was the mom. I was supposed to be cheering us up.
(But, have you ever heard Eva Cassidy sing "Imagine?")
The girls were very sweet.
They wrapped their arms around me, each, wordlessly, consoling a fellow child who was wrestling with the kind of sadness that results from saying 'goodbye' to a parent.
But, more importantly, I realized that regardless of their ages, they already knew precisely why I felt as I did, and it was gift not to have to explain a thing to them.
Today, both my parents and my children reminded me of some valuable lessons:
Don't dwell on the past.
Enjoy the time with your own children.
Do something nice for others.
Be kind.
And, if you can't change it, then make the best with what you have.
So, in the end, we still didn't go right home, but instead drove up to the top of Signal Hill in Long Beach and watched all the jets take off from way up there.
The girls sipped some McDonald's orange juice in the much brighter morning sun, still wearing their new Christmas pajamas. They'd refused to change out of them at first for our early drive to airport this morning. I was just slightly concerned of what others may think of this, but, turns out, nobody even noticed. Of course.
Life is about arrivals and departures. And love. And loss. And moving on.
Which, that reminds me of something else a bit more pressing: It's almost 2010.
And, I'm planning to have some fun this New Year's Eve. I have no idea what that means, but you're invited, too, if you plan on ringing in the new with good cheer, as well.
I'm sick to death with doom and gloom. I refuse to go there.
Next year will be the best year ever.
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