Yesterday, on Mother’s Day, we talked to my daughter Murielle, her rosy cheeks and bright green eyes front and center on the flat screen. Her Dad and I are seated in the wing back chairs in the living room while she snuggles under a blanket that holds special significance.
Holding up pieces of artwork in the camera, she reveals the latest art created in short snatches of time between long work hours and sorting laundry. She’s glowing as God’s face shines upon her.
She asks questions about purchasing new brake pads and debates on how to approach her boss about a question. And I vacillate between grief over not being present to help her practically and the consolation of maturity I witness due to the physical distance between us.
Rebirth takes place the moment you realize that what you wanted all along happened at the worst possible moment.