Gillian is Twenty Two

 Given this is the last year for these birthday posts I have been lamenting over the words I choose for each. That might be obvious as it is September and I am just now finding the space to write to Gillian, who's birthday was in May. Oof. The story is becoming less mine and more theirs. Independence and autonomy reign. And still there is a tenderness with each passing year that I find documents my becoming as much as theirs. The way of motherhood. When a human's cells are literally intwined with yours and remain in you even once the other has left. Carry on. 

Twenty two years old. Gillian, the pages continue to turn and the story you are telling with your life is brutiful. Honest. And yours alone. I hope with each passing day you are able to continue to see. To see all of you. To bear witness. Knowing that you are seen and you belong. That you have enough. That you believe you are enough. Everyday and always. May you be wrapped in love and filled with peace, surrounded by gentleness and guided into your year of twenty two with expectation for all that awaits. 

I love you more, Mom x

For You

it is hard and messy work, this living a life

sacred and holy work to be wholly yourself

with trepidation and tenderness 

skepticism and curiousity

love of self, worth 

acceptance and embodiment

baited breathe and baby steps

discovering the cotton candy cloud to be joy

starlight to guide

a setting sun the horizon to fall into

and the full moon to be honored

you, you are a masterpiece

live, live, live

scoop it all up and carry on

with only that of your choosing