A River Runs Through It
By the time you read this, I won’t have slept for several nights. I’m sure I’ve tried my best, but there will have been tossing, turning, and crazy rampant thoughts, mostly unsubstantiated. I’ll have dreamt of the dangers from hunger, the dangers from the elements, the ones from injuries, and even the ones from monstrous beasts, both animal and human. You know those cutesy phrases people needlepoint onto pillows or display on their living room gallery walls in pictures that feature things like zentangle feathers and fleur-de-lis? You’ve seen them. A boy holds his mother’s hand for a moment and her heart for a lifetime. Sons are the anchors of a mother’s life. There is this boy who stole my heart, and he calls me mom. Well, I’m here to tell you that those are all true. Know what else is true? That feeling of momma bear ferociousness when they’re first learning to walk and they bonk their head on the fireplace. It gets replaced by momma bear angst when they get pegged with the baseball sliding into home plate. It later turns into momma bear panic when they’re late coming home the first night after they are old enough to drive themselves. When they’re married, even when they have little cubs of their own, that feeling stays with you. This momma bear cannot sleep because it’s her most hated time of year. My man cubs are together this weekend. They’re on their annual wilderness trip. Gulp.
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