I was just planning to enjoy the escape this weekend, but things have been messing around in my head and I visited another blog site where I was quite struck by the backlit pictures of a tiny little boy waiting and watching out the window for his siblings to come home from school. ( Castle on the Corner )
The picture and simple caption evoked something quite tender, poignant and maybe a tiny bit raw, in the wellspring of my consciousness.
I'm not so sure I'm ready to let what's wiggling to get out of my head find it's way onto this post, which is technically dedicated to all things aggreeable, but some tides you just cannot sway.
The first thought was that of how many times we seven siblings watched and waited for each other at various periods in our lives: as youngsters, waiting for someone to come and play or to be born or to listen to secret discoveries or to come and help clean up the bed room; and then later, waiting for someone to come back into our lives or to come out for a visit to places we had moved, or to be there during the really tough and terrible times, when life, as is its wont, had its way. (I may write later about the kid brother we lost several years ago.)
And since I'm right here right now with my niece and the Little Beat of her heart, I remember my niece when she was this age, of course, but for more than just being my niece. She and her mother--my sister--and I lived together for a while before I left the country again. We were quite the funny little family, actually, and very connected. It was a difficult leave-taking, however destined and wonderful I felt it to be.
Over the years, we re-grouped, lived together again, only this time I had a daughter, too. More leave-taking , more re-grouping with each other and other family members,
and life was still having its way.
This brave and dedicated little mommy is married and she has plenty of aunts, uncles and cousins to love her and her "best beloveds," and if I dare speak for her, she has a full life. But I know there is an irrepressible part of her, as there is of me, still waiting and watching at the window for her mother to come back and play with us.