Been Awhile

Tonight, I went outside in the dark, after Trevor brushed his teeth (not without playful argument), and sat at a plastic green table, hidden behind our duplex. My apartment is one of two - a big, pale, kind yellow house - converted only God knows when. It is the only building on our street surrounded and secured by tall, old trees and lush, thick foliage. Nobody could see me. 

None but the moon and stars. 

The moon faded in and out like it was playing peekaboo; the clouds, it's heavenly hands. More than once I gazed upon it asking, "what do I do? What am I supposed to do?"

I thought of Hannah immediately, wondering if I had touched her life just enough to make some difference. Wondering if - if I had - that were my only purpose here in this life. 

The past year has been horrendous and the past few weeks have been so painful. My son is in pain. I hear his heart crack and, yet, I know I must stand by and let it, while also being a soldier of a mother who pushes him forward, grasping at his best. Tonight I was momentarily relieved of that pain. 

I have so much to do tomorrow - much of it uncomfortable, some of it downright scary - yet I sat in the night, alone and I thought about my fortune. 

I sat on an old plastic chair and watched the solar butterfly as it changed colors. I noticed it stays red longer than any other color but I didn't wonder why. I just stared at it and then I listened to the crickets and the night sounds. I started deliberately smelling the trees and flowers and buds yet to bloom, the misty, dewy smell of life coming to life and my heart swelled. 

For the first time since I can recall, I felt peace with the moon's fading in and out. I felt peace with the dampness that promises color and fragrance. I felt peace and promise. 

I felt hope. I felt safe. 

I felt home.