Today I heard a child call for his mother.
I turned, and almost answered – and discovered a new thing.
I am a mother now as I was then,
and it was a sweet awakening. I watched the mother go to her child,
and a startling gladness filled my being.
Behind me I could almost hear the footsteps of my own children:
young, not so long ago; little shadows, wide-eyed and curious,
dreamers wild with hope – children who are parents now themselves.
Children who still call me “Mom.”
I shivered, but not for long. I didn’t want to shake off the remembrance.
Love felt so ever present, so timeless, so eternal.
Love felt young today.
Love felt the little hand in mine, waiting to cross the street, urging me to
“Come see this!” or “Watch me, Mom!”
and for a moment, I did. I watched the rainbows,
saw the ball hit the baseball bat, listened to their breathless exuberance, reveled in their little lives. And something changed.
Something in me changed.
The day that had begun in clouds and dampness felt new;
the light was never too long overshadowed;
the rainbow was something to be searched for.
My heart skipped a beat, my eyes brightened.
So this is midlife.
Midlife, when seen through eyes and ears tested by time,
can be a new beginning.
If the cold, clear light of dawn signals the birth of day,
then the evening sun as it searches for a resting place
can offer renewal of a different sort. A rejuvenation.
As the body begins to rest, it allows room for contemplation;
quietly curing each magnificent awareness – perfecting the experiences of the day, the month, a lifetime – working toward a tender belief,
a complete hopefulness, an enlarged heart. A new faith.
A midlife faith.