ann kiemel

another month.
and it doesn’t matter how
fast i reach out to hang onto another
few days of a month…or summer…or a visit
with one of my children…or jan…or colben,
the clock just keeps moving. mornings dawn,
usually fresh and cool, and nights arrive.

and today is august 5.
i took the train to monterey bay to
spend friday night to monday morning
with taylor. his last semester starts in three
weeks, and he is finishing his degree in film.

i jumped into his spotless mustang, and we
headed to discount stores to shop. i was so
excited. mothers have to be creative to take
care of their children. i looked at my accounts,
and simply sold some art work from the days i
could afford such luxuries. it meant nothing to me
when it came to my son who has worked his way
through school, and worn the same clothes for years.

taylor’s jeans were gone.
i mean worn clear through. gashes in knees.
we bought jeans and shirts and puma socks and
a new pair of shoes after at least three+years of
his last pair. then it was late. we were starved.
and finished the day with a shared dinner and milkshake.

tomorrow will come too fast.
i’ll cry. i just know i will. i live for these
moments with taylor because they are way
too few and far between. i eat them, and chew the
memories, and replay the record of every moment
over and over and over.

motherhood is a school.
your babies are laid in your arms and
heaven just walks in and sits down
in your heart. along the way, you snuggle
and read books and kiss and ride bikes and
play and grow. then the world begins to teach
these most cherished lives in the world that
life can be mean and hard and disappointing
and shameful and tough.

and mountains rise,
and rivers run deep and music
lives on as long as we hang onto each other
and help each other and never let go.
two of my other children are having a hard time,
and we are the warriors that run the course with
each other. to the end. where victory reigns and
love endures. where God carries us across the
finish line.