Like any mother, I always refer to my children, as, well, 'my' children. This innocent two-letter word, 'my', is loaded with implications that do not always bode well with the Buddhist way of life. I found out, yesterday.
In the middle of the night, I woke up, with painful emptiness in my core. Soon after, dream helped shed some light. My daughter was coming back home to pick up her belongings. She was with a friend, and was moving out to her friend's house. Just like that. Hardly any words exchanged, . . . Of course, dream is a metaphor for daughter's final step towards full independence as a young adult. Although my mind knows, the heart is having a hard time following, after what feels like a cold break.
Daughter as master teacher, dispelling long held illusion that she is 'mine' . . .
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Boy do I understand how you feel! I remember the deep sadness I felt when my daughter moved far away from home. Such a sense of loss, how empty the house felt, yet in my heart I also was so pleased that she was spreading her little wings and stepping out on her own, that she had developed the inner confidence and need to do that. So many mixed feelings and tears.
ReplyDeleteAnd it made me appreciate more deeply the tears of my mother-in-law's tears when we leave after our annual visit (1500 miles away). Now I knew how it felt from the inside, out.
From mother, to mother, thank you for sharing! Our loved ones are our greatest teachers, aren't they? Evoking great joys, and sorrows, and helping us get in touch with the depths of our clinging, and laying out the work to be done, still.
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