Give Thanks

Most of the world watched at little Paris Jackson let the world hear her little voice yesterday, and as we were allowed into this little girls broken heart, ours broke along with hers. As a mother, a single mother I wiped away the tears thinking about my kids. I do have a will and my parents have guardianship as well as know my wishes for the boys and for me, but I could not fear that they could be taken from me in a second. I could be taken from them. Then what, I mean I am not afraid of dying, I embrace the idea of sitting with Jesus and just talking about life one day; it is the fear of what is left behind. Them. Suddenly my heart broke again, for the days throughout their life I have taken for granted and gotten mad over for nothing, and wasted worrying about spills on the carpet, for nothing.

My favorite Aunt, Katharina once told me not to let the couch become more important than those who sit on it. I love her. We have the same soul, she is my warmth and compassion, my embrace and my shelter. She is also wise and caring without asking a thing in return. She is the mother I want to be. I say this because throughout my life, I have been told never to slam doors, scratch cars, touch the walls, scour the floors, spill anything and clean up everything. Cars were more important than what I did that day in school, and if I bought home glitter it would not make it into my dads porche that he only brought out on sunny days, and the other time it was under a tarp in the garage. Now I love my dad and understand now why he wanted that golden egg, or porche protected, it took him a lifetime to get it. But in that lifetime he got me, and my brother but somehow forgot, or maybe he never learned how to embrace love instead of loving to embrace things. He is better now, but still when he says not to slam the Hummer doors, my heart clinches and I want to scream really loudly.

I want my boys to know how to respect possessions of others and theirs without embracing them as happiness makers. I want to take in every moment I can, those little boy hands will soon be holding ipods, computers, girls hands and steering wheels; but for now they are mine to hold.

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