Kahil Gibran wrote that your children are not your children. Even as a student in the 1970s I recognised the truth in what he said. And it turns out, bringing up children is a series of letting go’s, from taking your hands off the back of the two-wheeler bike to walking away on the first day of school and waving goodbye when they head off on their OE. However, for a while, both my girls were back and living here in the same city, until in the last year, their lives took them to settle in places several hours away. Which was another letting go even though they are now into their thirties.
Now, my two daughters are gone.
They’ve grown and flown and moved out of town.
I hear from them sometimes
though a week or so can go by
with no text and no call.
But never mind.
There’s no need to fret
they’re doing fine
they have lives of their own
they’re busy and well
while I’ve got places to go
and people to see
novels to read, music to play
and stories to write
in the good years that are left.
And really I’m glad
that it’ll be some time yet
before they need worry
about what needs to be done
with mother.
Fragments of an ordinary life 