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Friday, May 10, 2013

Is it Over Yet?

As of today, yes.

For the past 1.5 million years people have been eating meat.  People have been having babies.  People have been interested in fire.   Woman has loved man (but nagged him).  Man has loved woman (even though she nagged him). Man has loved man.  Dog has loved bacon. Woman has loved woman (we all love each other).  And Jay has been in school.  Like the forces of earth, wind, and fire....and school.  It's been there.

Today it ends.

This is a story of triumph, heroism, tragedy, comedy, masochism, and a whole bunch of other adjectives.  I won't bore you with the details, but know this--the protagonist, the mother, my partner in crime, is the baddest superhero this world has ever seen. 

This long road is something that is hard to appreciate until you get to the end, turn around, look back, and say, "damn, that's a long ass road."  Or maybe it's better to think of this as a mountain top. Looking down.  Looking out.  The trail is blurry, the air is clear, the heart is full....and there's a buttload of rocks everywhere.  That's more like it. 

I know that we all have perspective on our journeys and I can't speak for our protagonist, but in my view, this marathon of devotion to a single goal is something that we all can learn from.  Life isn't about one thing.  It's about everything all at once.

I saw beautiful weekends evaporate into anatomy book study sessions.  Days of work for the paycheck. Bravery to learn the things that she didn't know.  Expose herself to be supported by the guidance of those that came before her.  She was always the friend-the kind beacon radiating love. Thinking, doing, and acting for others in the middle of the vortex. I watched her give birth to the two most powerful, loving, diaper-exploding, creatures that have ever walked this earth--EGB and Baby B. And on. And on.

All this in one ball of lint.  Have you ever tried to take apart lint?  Don't.  It's fruitless.  Just like this attempt to unweb the web of experiences of our past.  Just like the view from the mountaintop.  The trail isn't what's important.  It's the view and everything that comes along with emotion of being able to look out, if even only for a brief moment.

From this mountaintop, with messy hair and a less than clean house, I say to you, mother of my children, love of my life, and partner in all things good and bad--I'm proud of you.  I don't know what's in store for us.  None of us do, but I know we can do it together.  That includes the rest of you too.  We couldn't, shouldn't, and wouldn't do any of this without you.

Congrats to you.  Take a moment to think of what we've all accomplished.  It's not a statistic. 

It's survival.