What I want them to remember Isn't-Me.
When they look back I don't want to be in their painting of this moment.
The tired mom sadly leaning against the sink, not sure, not ready for whatever is next. Cradling coffee, wondering about the snow, plotting an escape that won't happen. Reluctantly holding up the weight of the day for them. Just like she did the day before and she will do the day after.
I want the hours that I track back to the gym or stay late to be like the gray fog the sun burns off of a February beach. I don't want them to remember me there waiting in the corners, holding open doors, and smiling through the exhaustion.
I want bowls of oatmeal to appear as if by magic. Play dates and sleepovers to fall into place like night waves lapping at the side of the boat. Negotiations and conflicting schedules passing over their heads like shooting stars.
I don't want them to see how hard this is for me. I want them to believe I would never wish for anything other than this. That it is enough for me to be needed when I am around and quickly forgotten when I step aside. Enough to be trusted to be faithful and concrete. To be above being lonely or feeling left out. Above needing sleep and fire. Above the blue.
And when the rabbits slip the run in the night and the hunt is on.
I don't want them to remember that the year I turned 43 my snow pants were a little too tight and my spirit a little too loose. My voice harder to find.
That too often I looked like a lost stranger standing in the middle of my own life.
I walked heavy in my new light-weight snow boots and smiled in a grand illusion.
But I think it would be okay if they remembered that I was fast enough to catch a rabbit- when no else would even try.
It would be okay to remember me for that.
My mom, even from the time she was a little girl to when she was very old could always catch a rabbit....
Once upon a time, far, far, away.....