Thursday, June 4, 2015

It is Late

It is late, almost eleven, but from the room above I hear the gentle murmur and I know they are talking again.  It is late and I know they will be tired tomorrow and yet I often cannot bring myself to remind them that it is time for quiet and sleep.  Sometimes they hate each other and resent their shared lives.  But then there are these moments--when the irritations and annoyances are set aside and for a while they are friends.

My mother always said that the greatest gift she could give her children was each other.  I, in my lofty teenaged wisdom, surely thought that stupid, but how I understand that now.  With every passing year my love and appreciation for those brothers and sisters grows.  Time together is rare and precious, worth travel and inconvenience.

And so I think to my own children; my greatest gift to you is each other.  An even greater gift because of the difficulty of adding each child to our family and the fear that the family of our dreams would never materialize.

It is late, and as I listen again to my dream murmuring overhead, I smile.

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