When I think of my future, I think of my mother and then I think of myself. As I have entered adulthood (legally and rationally), more and more do I accept the fact that I am going to, naturally, be a definitive version of my mother. I am always living in the future, thinking of myself as a wife and a mother, every moment of the day. I feel my mother in my own being of self like some reverse nostalgia. Over the years, I have truly begun to understand what it means to harbor that parent role. Letting go of your child to the world of cars, drugs and alcohol, boys (and girls), and the shady internet is a whirlwind of angst. My parents have been fairly even-tempered about my travels and plans growing up (granted I have been much less of a wild child than some of my elder sisters). It has been made imperative that the role my folks have taken on has been goal oriented and loving in keeping our family safe. I know, as a parent, that same role will fall on my shoulders immensely. Knowing where my child is at all times and whom they are with is a serious state to be in. On the other end of that would be simply heart wrenching. Though I have been lucky enough to grow up in such a tight-knit and secure place in the country, the evil in the world is becoming more and more relevant and pertinent to me. I can imagine that keeping your kin secure and out of harm’s way while encouraging freedom and thought is a very off-kilter type of proposal. No single or set of parents are unblemished, not even mine. Surely, I would give anything to possess the type of stability, and tenderness, and wisdom that they have. No matter how many times I rolled my eyes or stormed the opposite direction, I so simply and so honorably cannot wait to be like every bit of my mother and even my radically gallant father.
For now and until then, I am still learning. Still absorbing. Still watching for the world.