If I had time and emotional endurance, I would write extensively about my older children--the sadness that comes from the young ones being young no more, the internal reflection that comes looking over the span of childhood years spent, the promise of watching our children find their adult legs, and the awkward, quiet helplessness of letting them stumble and leave. To not take the leaving as personal is hard--not in my mind, as I know it's the end goal, but in my heart, to not covet the younger years. To keep it all about them, not my own shifting sands.
To live in this awkward in between---to adjust my own sails, rearrange my time, think new thoughts, yet balance and be there for Rose as the youngest. To have the stamina to see David and Rose's education out as the demands change shape, waxing in new ways, and waning in others. To rest in the winter of childhood years and not leap fully into my "own" life again. To listen to a few whispering regrets among the grateful strains of the right choices we made.
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