I wrote the beginning of a story on paper that once held a chocolate chip cookie. I am not used to being a writer mama. I forget to carry a writing book along with the diapers. I remembered a pen. Two, actually. I wrote in the park as my son slept in his stroller. I was not expecting this moment just for me. He woke up just when I had a good sentence. All I could do was smile as I watched him stretch.
There is a timeline of my life since 2005 on my wall. I wrote it so it could help me write stories. I have been having trouble writing. Part of it is having a child. Now that I am a mother I don’t want to bare all. I want to ask for forgiveness. I don’t want to go into a room and not really tell a priest all my sins because he is a person. I don’t want him to know that much about me. I don’t need to go into a room like that anymore. It should be just me anywhere. My palms up and tears flowing down my eyes reading to God my list of things that He has probably already forgiven me for.
I missed writing on this blog. I tried to write letters to my son but then I didn’t want others to read it. I tell him stories as we walk past flowers, as I hold him in my arms and look deep into his eyes. I record what I want us to remember. He is such a blessing. Right now he is sleeping but there are times I am able to write and he is beside me. He taps on his own keyboard as he flings his legs in the air.
I can not tell him on my deathbed that I have done nothing in this life that he would be ashamed of. I can tell him that my life has been a series of start-overs until I’ve gotten it right. I am grateful for all the bad and all the good. Each day there is more clarity and opportunities to improve.