Love

People say they love a lot of things. I love dark chocolate, warm gingersnaps, reading a good book, snuggling up with Steve to watch Discovery, brisk walks, Jack's furry stomach. But really, I love people. More specifically, but not exclusively, I love my kids. Just look at Billy Boy - isn't he fabulous? We took this picture yesterday morning for a Mother's Day present he was making at school. He is my love, he is.

I'd wanted kids since I was about 9. Mom used to tell me, "You should wait to have kids," but I didn't listen too closely, and started at age 25. I used to tell my kids that if somebody came up to me and said, "You can keep everything in your life, or you can give it all up and keep your kids," that I would give them the keys to my car and house, strip down naked and walk away holding their hands. "Ew," they said, "That's really weird and gross." It's sort of Francis of Assisi-like, don't you think? But if I ever weighed the love for my children against the love of anything else (even that fabulous green jacket I'm wearing at Kari's graduation), nothing even comes close.

When I think about love, it's like something warm hits the center of my heart and flows out quickly and smoothly over the rest of my body, filling in around all of my muscles and organs until it's no longer just me, but me-with-love, a golden being. It gives me that warm look in my eyes and that soft smile, it makes me think that this life really IS a good thing, even though others may try to tell me different. It gives me strength to keep going on, knowing my kids are here on this Earth with me.

My back has totally gone out, and it's hard to even stand upright. We leave for Bismarck in a couple of hours. Steve held me while I cried this morning, frustrated that life just keeps marching on, and sometimes it's hard for me to keep up. He stroked my hair and said sweetly, "Honey, you're going to lose your mom, but she'll go knowing she outlived her kids, and that's every parent's wish." And I know he's right - there's comfort in that, but if I feel this all-consuming love for my kids, doesn't she feel the same? Isn't that what's keeping her alive? Love? Love for and from Dad, love for and from all of us daughters? Love for and from all of her friends, and all of the people whose lives she's touched in some way? How do we make that transition from tangible to intangible? Maybe that's why my back gave out - it's too much of a burden to carry right now, this figuring out burden. I'm a figure-it-out kind of gal, I'm the first to admit it, but this has got me stumped. If we DON'T try to figure stuff out beforehand, will we be able to handle it (I first typed "handel" which is sort of funny) when it comes into our lives? Eckhart Tolle would say that dealing with it WHEN it comes is the ONLY way to deal with life. You simply can't anticipate anything before it happens, because, well, anything can happen.

So I slouch in my black leather swivel chair, looking at the pictures I downloaded from my camera, the pictures from Kari's graduation. Can you see everybody smiling? Everyone with their arms around each other? Can you feel the arc of love and connection between us all, this big raucous family of Ekbergs and Rishers and Aanestads? I can. It's called love. So love, and the knowledge of love, will keep me going today, and most likely, tomorrow, and the next day, no matter who comes into, or leaves my life. Because once you have love, you always have love. That's what I believe.