Captive in Captiva

I have a deep and abiding sadness.  I've just spent the past 6 days with my girl on Captiva Island in Florida.  How do your children so have your heart?  I know that this isn't her ideal vacation, to spend 7 days, captive on Captiva Island, with her mother, while all of her friends are at Seaside or Watercolor in the panhandle of Florida.  But for me, I will treasure this time with her always (just like I did when I went to NY, Boston and Philly with both boys when they were 17).  We haven't done a ton of things; a lot of sitting in the condo and watching Gilmore Girls and sitting at the beach.  Mostly, we've eaten our meals in the condo with the exception of the taco shack down at the beach.  Today we've barely spoken 2 dozen words to each other, me reading my trashy romance novel and her watching and listening to God knows what on her phone.  But even though I know she's ready to move on, I'm already mourning the end of our time together.  

When we got here on Saturday she said, "Seven whole days!  What are we going to do together for that long?"  In my mind, I thought, "seven, glorious, uninterrupted days with you."  She'd think that was creepy and pathetic.  But I truly love her company.  This damned pandemic has been a bastard for many reasons, but it has allowed me unadulterated time with the ones I love the most.  I'm sure it's age and sentimentality, but hopefully someday my children will have families of their own and feel the same way about their spouses and children.  I can think of no greater gift.  

I'm not Catholic but I think I get the whole mysticism and adoration of Mary.  Really, if you think about it, she was the ultimate mother, watching her son make the ultimate sacrifice and die on the cross.  He may have been the Savior of the world, but he was still her little boy.  And I get it when it says in Luke 2:19 that "Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart."  If she wasn't really thinking about that night in the manger or the time she lost track of him on their way home to Nazareth from Jerusalem or when he turned the water into wine the whole while she watched him carry his cross up the road to Calvary then I'd understand not reveling in her motherliness.  But she wasn't thinking about her son the Messiah.  She was just thinking about her son.  And honestly, despite the whole Gabriel and host of angels at his birth, she was just marveling at this tiny little creature to whom she'd just given birth and imagining his whole life and the multitude of possibilities he had before him.  

Isn't that what we all do (not give birth to messianic prophets who change the world, even if we think we do); have big dreams for our children.  The instant they are born (or come into our lives for those who don't become mothers through birth) our hearts expand beyond belief and we have dreams, so many dreams for these little creatures.  As my children have gotten older, I've realized that there has been death to many of my dreams for them.  And this isn't bad.  I've been able to live my life and make my choices and as my kids mature, I realize that my dreams for them aren't necessarily their dreams for them.  It's gotten easier with each successive child.  At first, I thought I was failing and I was, but not because they had different dreams for themselves. I was failing because I wasn't listening.  It's not easy to release your grasp on them and let go of the reigns.  

Being a mother has made me appreciate my own mother in ways that I never could in my teens or twenties.  Not everyone has had a mother who was sacrificial, but mine was.  At times I thought I hated her and I certainly resented her.  But until I had my own 3 children I could not understand the extent of her love for me and my brother.  I'm 52 years old and she is 73 years old and she still loves me in that same, sacrificial way.  And the same way that I yearn to spend time with my children, she yearns to spend time with me.  Sometimes she gets the dregs but she never looses hope and she is always so happy when she gets time with me (the same way I'm grateful when my kids watch Netflix with me).  

So, I've loved every minute with my girl this week.  Every boring minute, every sunburned minute, every share the same bed while I snore minute, every make her a snack and clean her plates minute. And I will treasure up these memories and I will ponder them in my heart, a heart full of gratitude for the most mundane of details and the luxury of boredom. I marvel at who she is and I pray that God always has the wind to her back so she can sail beyond her wildest dreams because she is, quite simply, the absolute, very best.