Saturday Before Sunday

I was supposed to be gone, but I stayed. JetBlue, like other airlines flying out of JFK, cut flights to once a day. That’s about 40 flights in total leaving New York City. JetBlue contacted me with the bad news that my original flight was changed, so I made some date adjustments and will remain in NYC through Mother’s Day weekend. How wonderful that I can be with my daughter to celebrate her first M.D. with her daughter!

Naturally, I bought some matching T-shirts for the three generation females; they have pastel rainbows across the chest that read, “Once Upon a Time” and for Baby Millie, “And they lived happily ever after.” I think those classic story phrases pretty much sums up everything.

Once upon a Saturday two months ago I landed in New York to share the experience of birth. To meet my granddaughter. To help. To celebrate. To roll up my sleeves and do whatever needed to be done to make this transition to parenting less scary. Accomplished: Check. Above and beyond: Double check. When I leave on Wednesday with my shiny red Mary Poppins bag, I know that I did something earthquake-esque. But still being in the midst of the rumbling, it’s hard to explain.┬áLet me try:

You see, I came here to help. I came here as a worker. I came here knowing I was needed. And wanted. By my daughter. By my son-in-law. By Millie. To have purpose is profound.

As a teacher, I have a purpose.

As the mother of two puppies being cared for by my ex-husband who’s holding down the fort at home, I have purpose.

As a sister and cousin, as a friend, I have purpose.

As a writer, as a former journalist, as a mess-around artist, I have purpose.

And this purpose fills me. Every day I have something important to do. Something important to learn and discover. Like what this two months of isolation and the opposite of isolation as a member of this new family living in a 500 square foot NYC apartment, means. Really means. The Big Picture. The tight shot.

Let me try to untangle the daily tasks–diapering, rocking, burping, emailing students, grading, lesson planning, distant conferencing–from the guts of this story: Love. Every day I fall in love. With this little girl. With my big girl who knows what this forever love thing feels like. With my new role as the elder stateswoman. With the knowledge that every day is precious. And to love every moment. Because, just like Millie, just like this beautiful Spring day in NYC, it’s a new moment.

I realize I have been living in the past or the future. But when you look in a baby’s eyes, you are in The Moment. Nothing else matters. Only now. Babies don’t doubt your love. They trust. They know you are there for them, to love them, to guide them as they greet each milestone. Everything is new. Everything. And you have to help them. You want to help them because it’s the only thing that really matters. Love is the only thing that lasts.

Those intimate, unrehearsed smiles, they mirroring you. When I’m back home in a few days, I’ll take those moments in my pocket and throw them in a pot of soup, in the moist soil beneath the lemon tree, in the glass of LVE rose around the fire pit, and I will savor and rejoice this sauna of lavender love I have been privileged to experience.

Today, Saturday, not Sunday, I have purpose.

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