Goodbye, My Babies.

     Norah and Cedar. What I want for you is to be kind. In that, the happiness will come. I’m not worried about your happiness. I’m not worried about much. I hurt for much, crave change and will pursue the movement toward it. I don’t worry about you, loves. But I think about your spirit. Our job, mine and daddy’s, right now, is to foster that glow in you. That magnificent wonder and enthusiasm burns brilliantly bright in you. Your attention to detail, your imagination, your vigorous grasp around our necks, your compassion, your delight in the small things, like tiny, warm blueberries, building a racetrack, getting to pick your own cookie, or tooting. My hope is huge. My hope is that your fire remains irresistible. I’ve met very little adults who have theirs still, fewer still who have triumphed over defeat and hurt and ache to ignite the burn of goodness and zeal in others. My children. It is not easy. You will be fighters. Your mother and father are fighters. We have lost many. We have seen things we do not wish anyone to see. As children ourselves, that light in us was constantly dampened by those whom we were to trust and look up to. Children, defeat the pain. Move onward into progress and marvel at good, giving little attention to the bad—for those things are a tantrums demanding attention. Overcome evil with goodness, with a patience and perseverance that becomes wholly addictive.  Worry switches on genes that were previously dormant, genes that you’ll battle with once they are allowed to play out their script in your chemistry. Worry sits in your blood, in your bones. Worry keeps your neurons from firing the way they were meant to. So, it’s simple. Do good. Think outside of yourself, look into the eyes of the ones serving you, lift up the hurting (and they will often be silent, don’t make assumptions, just go, love them), reveal your affection (it makes people wiggle, I like it). Demonstrate with your voice, your hands, your feet, your eyes, children, WHERE this world can go. You have an Ally. And you have us. But if somehow you feel lonely, afraid to show that you are deeply hurting, sit down and write to me. Play music, make a cup of tea, and write… and while you do so, daydream of all the good in this place that you want do in your glorious life. I will advocate for you. If you cannot see me, if you cannot be with me, I am STILL your advocate.

     It’s pretty clear, you are no longer infants, no longer completely reliant on daddy and I for all of your needs. You can prepare yourselves snacks, use the potty, safely bathe, play with and comfort each other. Babies, you are not. Years will keep going and you will become stronger, more inventive, more independent. I can’t wait to witness! Each day we are more deeply and passionately intertwined with you, sweet children. My young lady, my young man… go on, get on with it then. Face all this fearlessly, and with unstoppable pride, through all of it, I sit here listening, watching, beaming.