Enduring Impermanence

The only thing that we can be sure of in this life is that nothing stays the same.  As time marches on, so comes the changing of the seasons, birthing, aging, dying. Life rolls on, like the relentless beating of the waves against the shoreline. And just as that shoreline will change shape over time, so too do our lives.

Constantly changing and reshaping what is.

People come and go, in and out of my life like the ebb and flow of the tide. Pulled in by the moon and then just as quickly pulled away again.

Each one leaves their mark on my heart.

Sometimes they are there for just a moment.  Sometimes they stay for years.

Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they are torn from my life by death. Sometimes they just fade away from mutual indifference.

My heart remembers them all.

The stories told on a plane or a park bench.

The stories shared over a dinner or in an email.

The shared smiles and laughter.

Each person giving small bits of themselves to me and accepting bits of me in return.

I remember and I cherish the moments.

Each person, whether they stay for a moment or for longer leaves something behind. There is something of value shared.

Perhaps I gain a new appreciation for pies or trees. Perhaps I learn to value a school teacher or a policeman. Perhaps I gain a deeper understanding of life in another time, place or circumstance. Perhaps I learn about myself, my wounds, my fears, my judgments.  Perhaps I am comforted or entertained.

For a moment, here and there, I am not lonely.

I am forever changed by the bits I gather from others and the bits I give away.

Day after day, these people flow through my mind. Where are they? Are they happy? How did things turn out? The answers are not for me to know.

Sometimes I can reach out, a text, an email, a phone call. I'm thinking of you. Your bits are still with me. I love you.


Yet other times there is no way to reach someone.

The constant ebb and flow of the waves on the shore rub the rocks and shells and sea glass together. Here and there - you never know who you'll bump into next or how long they'll stay by your side.

Cherish each moment. Savour the bits that are shared.  Freely give your own bits away, a smile, a hug, a story. Together we are rubbing the rough edges off of each other.


Once I sat alone, lonely and afraid while I watched fireworks light up the Las Vegas sky. Then Angela joined me on the bench. For an hour we were friends. For an hour she shared her bits with me.  I learned much about myself from a wandering 79 year old lady. Then she moved on, never to be heard from again.  Her imprint on my heart remains, as does yours.

I haven't forgotten.

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done

My boy called me the other day.

Hi Mom.

That voices makes me melt inside and my heart swell with love.  Just a few weeks away from his 20th birthday. I haven't seen him in 3 months. I haven't heard that voice in 3 months.  We text often but this time he called.

I love that boy more than he will ever know.

From the first time I felt his tiny body move inside my belly, night after night when I rocked him for hours, through the screaming, the fighting, the years of counseling, right up until the day he left, my heart has never wavered.

It is a love like no other and he is the hardest thing I've ever done.

My son has Asperger's Syndrome. He is on the autistic spectrum. He has sensory dysfunction, attention deficit, and learning disabilities.

For years I was told that he was a bad kid and I was a bad mom. I might have been a bad mom, definitely a new mom, a scared mom, an insecure mom. But I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that my beautiful boy was not born bad.

I defended him from those who said mean things about him. I fought with the school system to get him help. I drove him to counseling.  I committed him to the mental health unit to be evaluated.  I called the police on him when he was violent.

And I cried. Day after day I cried. The only thing I did more often than cry was pray. More than anything I want my boy to be safe and happy.  I don't know what that looks like for him but it is my daily pray.

I fought for my boy, for days, weeks, months and years. Yet I was the one that took all his rage and frustration.  I was his bad guy and it was all my fault.

Not only did I cry and pray, but I questioned every choice I made, every step of my parenting journey. Was it my fault? Did I do it wrong? Is he this way because I did something while I was pregnant?  Or because I didn't do something?  Did I not love him enough? Did I not give him enough? It's bad enough that my first born must suffer but even worse that he blames me for his suffering. I wasn't a good enough mom to deserve his love. The days when I held him as he raged and cried,  I got no thanks, no appreciation.

I would have done more if I could.

Three months since he went away to school. Three months since I've seen him.
Three months since I've heard his voice.

My boy brought me to tears with just a few simple words.  How are you? he says. And then later, when I tell him I'll send money he says thank you.

Simple words but I'm not sure my son has ever before, in 20 years, asked me how I was.

He had to leave me before I stopped being the bad guy.


The hardest thing I've ever done....

...carrying him.

...birthing him.

...rocking him.

...fighting for him.

....fighting with him.

...advocating for him.

...medicating him.

...letting him go.

The only thing that came easy was loving him.