June 10th

I would have noticed the date today when I eventually woke up a bit.

For sure when I went to work later today and started writing the date. 

We had a going away get together for Tia last night. A nice group that enjoyed eating, laughing and playing games together. 

This morning when I got up to see them off ... the 3 gals hadn't yet slept a wink. 

They were a fun kind of punchy. 

So I ignored my alarm that I habitually set for 6 a.m. on mornings I'm not working and rolled over. 

I woke later and checked our family GroupMe. Two years ago today Anna & Wylon were engaged. Wow! Time does fly! We are so happy for them. Warm snugly feelings wrapped in their car as their travel today. 

And then it hit me. 

It is June 10th. 

We all have dates that live in our hearts where caverns have been created at some time. And, although those caverns at times are filled with tears of joy, they are still caverns. Crevasses carved by our own tears. 

It doesn't matter how long it has been. 

So how fitting is it that today, on June 10th, this is the sight that greets me as I open the door to my daughters room. 

She is whizzing her way across the state of Arizona, on her way to a new life in North Dakota, fast asleep while her dad drives. 

I'm home this morning remembering another June 10th. 

Eighteen years ago on this date I lost the ability to give birth to any more children.  I lost the chance to feel them growing within me: their kicks, their arms flailing, their heart beats bounding. That day changed the course of my life. What I thought was a sure and steady path was forever altered and it wasn't an easy change. It was torturous leading up to that day and it was raw for a very long time afterward. The grieving process that began months before that day had a long way yet to go. 

And finally I was able to enjoy. To drink in and hold in my heart the growing of my family and all its changes. To appreciate the days I had with this last little cherub I had been loaned by God. 

They haven't been roads of roses without thorns. They have been the kind of road that nature winds. One that goes through mountains and valleys, gently sloping plains and rock strewn stream beds. 

Now as she leaves she will have to learn some of the things we failed in. I hope the learning isn't too terribly hard because she has every right to blame us if it is. She is our youngest and we, as her parents, held on to that. Oh, we haven't neglected everything. She will learn the rest on her own because she is also that willful type of woman. Somedays she will be blaming us. I know that. I will deserve that.

So on this June 10th I'm already crying. For that which wasn't, for that which was and for the new hill I've now to climb. At the end of the hill will be be a new kind of life that will be equally beautiful to the life of the last eighteen years ... after that other June 10th.

Just in a different way.