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"The children turn... First within the cradle of her skin, into infant's howling for her milky breast. Into toddlers drinking their broken moon in. Into children who slip steadily into their own loves. Into the undeniable trajectory of adolescence, adulthood, old age and death.
Notice them and do not ever forget. Bleak branches press the winter sky. Pay attention to their emptiness. Embrace them with your own, heedless of the bitter cold. When the children pour their pain in rivers at your feet, be consumed by their current and let them drink your sorrow in.
Hold them. Give them all you have. As blatant as breathing, the leaves feather across warmer days. The trees are alive again. Hope for this when the cold seems eternal. It isn't. Nothing is, but death.
The children will unfurl new growth with everyday--every pulse-print. Think of this when they are knobby and awkward. They are changing. Always. Nothing stays, know only this. When at last, branches are emerald crowned, victorious, full flower. Remember only the turning.
Remember how you loved them. Always. How you left your home to stand beside them everyday. How you never forgot, how you always noticed everything. Babies--golden and crimson. Toddlers--raw and essential. Children, adolescents--bursting with possibility. Adults elders--beyond full flower.
Remember how you loved them. Always. How you left yourself to stand beside them everyday. How you never forgot, how you noticed everything. Remember this and be grateful.
You gave everything. Now, Love Yourself." ---C. Delia Scarpitti 2004
_________________ "I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever." ~Rabindranath Tagore
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