the phone rang in the morning hours, i answered. her voice an indication of things unsettled, sadness billowing. a life lost. a vapor once seen, vanished.
the rain falls heavy, capturing my gaze. beckoning even.
i snuggled on the couch, under our favorite blanket gifted by mimi and papa. the velveteen rabbit on my lap. words jumped off the pages-
"he longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. he wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him."
life doesn't go as planned. uncomfortable things happen.
children tantrum through growth. babies aren't as healthy as we thought they would be. the parenting in which we thought we would master, suddenly becomes blurred. our stable ground starts to shake and those feet planted to firmly in belief, doubt.
life becomes uncomfortable, yet it is in the hard places that we grow. like a lone flower blooming in the crevices of a sidewalk. it is there in the unexpected places that we become Real.
*just writing with heather