Everything

As I shut the back sliding glass door behind my 13-year-old boy this morning, there was a fresh two inches of powder on the ground.  He quietly made his way to the bus as I headed toward the front to shovel our driveway.  When I came back I glanced out the rear window and saw the trail he left behind.  It felt rather symbolic of the last few months and elicited the following thoughts:

Everything

The babes I once held close

To whisper away the cries

To rock to sleep

To hold

Just because I wanted to.

I was their everything.

They learned to walk.

My hands outstretched

To catch (just in case)

To steady

To encourage

To engulf in a hug when they made it.

Aside from fruit snacks

I was their everything.

Their feet grew.

Their world got bigger.

Their strides grew longer.

Now they walk

They run

They jump

They do everything.

But the trail has shifted.

The footprints face away

Instead of toward me.

Positive they know what to do

Positive they know the way

But I wonder.

Are they ready?

Have I taught them everything?

It is what I want for them.

It is how it is supposed to be.

This hollow breath in my throat

It has nowhere to go,

No way to feel right.

Have I done my job?

Is this all there is?

Is this everything?

Dear God,

I hope you know what you’re doing.

Lead them

Guide them

Walk beside them

Please make sure my babies make it.
They have to.

They are
After all
My Everything.

Drew's footprints left in the snow this morning