Finger

I put finger to wet paint - to page - to assuage my grief. I joined my son who loves to colour. For him it was mostly about the setup - setting up the colour palate. He seems stumped at what the actual master piece will be. That how I’m with you right now. I don’t know what we will look like. The red and blue was too much like my christian school uniform. Then the black and yellow - like a wasp - those tell tale colours in nature that say watch out - a sting - a bite. I remember the park in Dingle - dogs on a leash, waiting for you to come back from the store - waiting a long time, waiting - and eventually. He now sights. He is at a stand still - I actually think he is a little under the weather - so he has to take many breathers. I am anchored by these children. I fear the Tuesday morning aftermath - when the drop of sadness and anxiety overwhelm me. Stepping out of the school gate - asking: Who am I? What the fuck am I doing here? The intensity of this experience never ceases to amaze me. So important are the children - and yet we put them off as problems - their development, their nurture is a gift to me - as I start, just to start - to get beyond the gloaming feelings of being alone with myself, with them. They are magic - their sounds, smiles, skin and sleep - all magic. And today I grieve that there is not one by my side to cheer me on - to notice my good - fabulous parenting - and my down moments - especially bed time. There is something profound about kissing the head of each one - sending them into another place where I can never go - a small death each time is felt. I love them - I love this life with them - who could not?