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Garth Brooks could write a song about it

Sometimes I like to get up a little early on a Sunday. It’s the best morning to be out on the deck. This morning I dodged the rain and took my coffee out. My batteries needed a recharge. A cool morning, a cup of hot coffee, and a little quiet time jump starts my perspective.

On Sunday mornings it’s quiet. No one’s rushing off to work or school. My neighborhood has a pattern. Like a disfunctional orchestra. The music starts with the guy in the dead guy house. That’s what my children called it. It’s across the street and a little to the right. When we moved in here the family living there moved out. It turns out that the family moving out was my older son’s HS girlfriend’s but that’s just useless trivia. The man who moved in commited suicide his first Christmas there and that’s how it got it’s name. 

His cousin moved in that next Spring but sold it last year to the new people. The size of their dog’s mouths kept me from heading over, with a bundt cake, to introduce myself so they’ve remained “the new people” to me. He starts his truck (or motorcycle depending on the weather) at exactly 6:10 am every morning Monday through Saturday.

The bodybuilder puts his dogs out at 6:15am, they bark along.  Then he heads out, his wife right behind him, their son is out calling for the dogs by 7. That’s when the school buses start rumbling along squealing their brakes as they stop along my road. The whining begins next door to me around 8am and it echos as the other kids head out to wait for their buses. Gargy is the worst one, that child’s always unhappy about something.

Sundays are different. No everyday noises. It wasn’t in my plans to be out on the deck this morning but I woke up early and it just felt like the thing to do.  It’s pretty out on my deck in the early morning. Because we’ve had rain the air was fresh and the cool nights we’ve been getting made it easier to breathe.  It smells like Spring and the different shades of green are so vivid. I love this time of year.

I do my best talking to God out on the deck. Usually on Sunday mornings. It’s like my private worship service. My choir the birds, my altar the sky.  My faith is always in me but sometimes an hour on the deck keeps it healthy.

I’ve been talking a lot, with the person I talk to when I talk about things, about our changing lives. My life echos his right now but in a different way. The first time my older son left home it wasn’t happy. It was angry and hurt filled and broke my heart a little. Sometimes we have to hold our ground with our children even though inside we’re falling apart over it. I’m lucky, circumstance brought him back home to live for these past few months and we’re getting a mulligan. He’s moving out, again, in August and I know he won’t be back. I’m glad and grateful to God for giving us another chance to mend our fences. We’re better than we were and while his life now includes future marriage and child, our mother son bond is as close as it needs to be. This time will be different.

I thought about that this morning.

And I thought about Mrs. Robin. She was on the fence chirping hello. I don’t know how long Robins live and I’m too lazy to look it up, I do know Mrs Robin’s been around my yard for years.  I know it’s her by a scar on her breast. She’s raised at least  twenty babies since we met. One year she shared it with us by building her nest right outside my kitchen window.  That year she raised four babies and the boys and I watched them go from eggs to nestlings to the sky.

I guess that’s what I’m doing with my sons, I’m watching them go from my nest to the sky.  I’m not ready for them to go but I want them to. Mrs Robin has it right. She knows when it’s time for her to let her babies test their wings and if they aren’t ready she brings them back into the nest until they are. I don’t know how she knows, instinct I guess. 

I feel good about my Burg leaving. I’m not sure I’m ready but I know he is. This time when he tries his wings I think he’ll find them to be strong and ready to let him soar. And like Mrs Robin I guess I just have to sit and watch him go.  I think God wanted me to remember that.  I hope I can keep it in mind when he goes because that will be a rough day for me and even if he’s ready…I’m not.    

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One comment on “Garth Brooks could write a song about it

  1. That was a beautiful post.

    I hope I never have to experience letting my kids grow up and leave. In fact, I hope I never have kids. 🙂

    René

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