Feathers and Steel

I watch the slump of her shoulders as she boards the bus for home.  Her hopes of going to State are dashed.  Her last high school season for one-act play is over and done.  This was not the way she had envisioned it ending.  Her disappointment is palpable. 

As school chaperone for the day, I take my place near the front of the bus and long to go to her, but know she prefers to be alone for now.  I must wait until we are home.  I can hear the splintering of her heart from three rows up.  She wants her senior year to be perfect.  Of course she does.  They all do.  They want to be applauded and awarded and toasted.  They long for a legacy, of sorts.  “Oh, she’s the one that took all those awards, remember?  Yeah, she was something!”

It is a natural desire.  I don’t begrudge her those dreams – no, not one speck.  But as I sit in the gathering darkness on a bumpy school bus, snowflakes swirling in the beams of white headlights, pieces of staging and costumes littered about, I am acutely aware that tonight is a mere foreshadowing of life. 

She cannot know that.  She is not supposed to know that.  Not yet.  When you are seventeen, life is only about dreams about to be birthed.  It is about balancing on the ledge of future happiness.  It is all about HOPE. 

I already know that her life will not be perfect.  Whose is?  I think back to myself at her age and how many of my friends from that time have experienced every conceivable trial known to man.  I have borne the weight of a few myself. 

She will know disappointments and personal failures.  She will question at times whether she made the right choice.  She will shed tears of heartbreak.  Who has not experienced these thoughts and feelings at one time or another? 

She is human. 

She will too.

I turn in my seat to look her.  She is so lovely.  Her long tresses are golden in the fading light.  My heart beats with every beat of her heart.  I know that the mask of indifference she is wearing now is an attempt to prevent tears from splashing down her tired face.  I wish I could magically create that senior year she longs for and dreamed of.  I cannot.

And yet…

Maybe…

… maybe, the greater kindness it to simply share her journey.  Just be there, like a lengthening shadow across a summer field.

When she faces disappointment and her heart constricts with pain, listen and nod.  When she is angry and lashes out, lovingly point out the greater perspective.  When she feels low and useless, help her see herself through my eyes.  And when her body crumples into my mine, wrap around her arms of unconditional love and will my strength into her fragile soul.  She will hear the whisper of my voice low in her ear reminding her that she is made of feathers and steel; fragility and strength in one breathtaking package. 

I also know, there will be moments of ecstasy and boundless joy.  I will be there then too. 

And so, my Love…

Cuddle your hopes.  Pull them close to your youthful, beating heart and caress them to fulfillment.  Fan the flame of Possibility and its cousin, Ambition, until they are warming fires in your soul.  Set your face to the wind, spread your beautiful wings, and soar to azure skies.  There is nothing to stop you from flying to the moon and the twinkling stars beyond. 

And I…

I will watch your retreating figure until it disappears into the heavens and I will clap and cheer and grin like an idiot.  I will be ridiculously proud of all you are at that moment. 

As I am proud of you tonight.  You are so incredibly talented and wonderful. 

And on those days when the winds buffet you about and you need shelter from the storms…

I’ll be here. 

Always.