The Recessional March

 Where have my yesterdays gone—
The ones when I sat with you on the swings,
Laughing in the sun
And feeling like I do now,
At the thought of you beginning pre-school, the very next day?

The swing set is gone,
And the pool, devoid of its children
Who used to splash in the August heat.

The Lord whispered to me:
“For My wind will blow away the staleness, the familiar, the comfortable, but it will blow in a new thing.”
But I can’t bring myself to talk with Him, right now.

The years are gone,
Not all of them good,
But all of them, necessary.
And as you walked away with your diploma,
I felt the life drain from the house,
And my appetite wash away with the tears I can’t hold back
As I sit in your room,
Painting the parts I never got to
And pretending.

The Lord reminded me:
“For My wind will blow away the staleness, the familiar, the comfortable, but it will blow in a new thing.”
But the pool is still empty, its only swimmers, the leaves from the trees.

I dreamt thrice, last night—
First, of a new place, I knew not where;
The roads were paved and the buildings were done,
But the parking lots were incomplete.
I was allowed to drive the roads,
But could not enter beyond,
For it was not the appointed time.

So I went back to where I am now
And saw you at twelve, in the second dream.
We watched, powerless, as three thieves each stole a chair from our home,
And in doing so,
Set us on our paths we started that year,
Robbed of health.
One chair for you, one chair for me,
And the third is yet to pass.

The Lord reminded again:
“For My wind will blow away the staleness, the familiar, the comfortable, but it will blow in a new thing.”
But I am still at a place where I haven’t let go,

And the third dream came anyway.
I browsed a store filled with beautiful clothes
And I touched them, admiring,
But they were not for me to wear yet
Or perhaps the ones I already have,
Or maybe both.

I watched the sun rise,
And I understood the call of New York—
To be engulfed in humanity
Yet not having to speak to any of them,
Fills the void of being truly alone,
In temporary, fleeting relationships,
That renew with each day.
Always something to look forward to,
But never having to commit,
Or face loss.

The Lord reminded once more:
“For My wind will blow away the staleness, the familiar, the comfortable, but it will blow in a new thing.”
But I still feel as if I should never have been a mother
So I would never have to feel as I do now,
Replaying the Recessional March of Graduation
Over and over in my head,
Watching you walk away from me,
Toward your own future.