This morning when I woke up I had been dreaming about taking my son to his first day at preschool. The sense of loss was so intense that I immediately teared up. During the day, in my conscious state of being, I never think of myself as a mother who longs for her children in a younger time, but there I was. Craving the presence of that child who trusted me so completely, opened up his mouth wide to let Jesus into his heart, asked me to become a professional singer when he heard me singing harmony to the songs on the radio. You forget how wonderful it is to have a life so deeply woven into your own with such a strong and profound love. You forget how amazing it is to love someone enough to be willing to kill for them, or die for them, and you forget how important you were to them once upon a time. And there it was, so raw that it hurt and I lay in bed and tried to return to the dream and cried some. My son and daughter and I will never have that kind of relationship again.
At work (I never claimed to be good at writing transitions, that is all you get), we reviewed a client's website where the search results turned up different results when someone searched 'zombie' instead of 'zombies' (plural), and I thought -- there it is. To be wishing for that old relationship is as unproductive as wishing that corpses would stand up and start moving.
Yep, I was in the middle of that meeting and going off on that bizarre mental tangent.
To have my children return to that earlier state would yield emotional zombies. They have to become adults, even if that means rejecting everything I hold true. They have to leave and find their own path and their own social circles. Because no one wants a zombie around. Or zombies (plural).
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