Letting Go

I'm sitting on the kitchen counter of our 3rd floor apartment in Germany, seven months pregnant. Im watching for him. From that counter I can see the tree lined road edging the pristine courtyard that's nestled between the rows and rows of apartments that are half empty. Funny thing is, even some of the homes that are full of families are void of any life. I know because we are one of them.

I remember pouring my big ole pregnant self a bowl of cereal.

I sit, and I eat.

I cry and I eat, praying for whatever God I believed in at the the time to please bring him home safe. I don't care about whatever mischievous things he's been up to, I just want him to be safe. I just want him here with me, right now, in this moment of loneliness.

I have no one else to call, because if I called them they would want me to come home, back to the states.

Away from him, away from my family.

Away from The family I've been fighting so hard for.

Away from my unborn son and the only father he would know.

So I just sit there and I cry into my cereal and wait. Begging My God to bring him home. Bring him home safe so that I can continue to be the glue that held my family together like a precious family heirloom, held together with that super duper ultimate glue. You know, the ones that we see on the infomercials that proclaim to be able to hold a ten ton truck over the edge of the town bridge. That's how strong I felt, just like that glue.

It's 7 AM now.

I unwillingly carry my unborn child into my bedroom, shuffling the weight of him and myself into our empty bed. I sing us into a "Jesus Loves Us" and "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" tear induced slumber. I wake every thirty minutes until he finally arrives home the next day. Its 2 pm.

This was the beginning of my life long bond with my first born. It's there in my soul, it's there in his.

Forever.

Dry Spell

Understanding what truly makes us happy can be hard at times. We are filled with so much happiness from outside sources too often, I know this is true for me.

I'm going to pause here and analyze the fact that I'm constantly wondering what makes me happy. My family makes me happy; my son, my mother, my sisters they all fill me with joy. I've said it too many times. It's too easy for me to tell you what I can go to to feel happy.

My question to myself is how can I be truly happy without looking for outside sources. Is this even possible? To love and be loved is happiness to me, so I'm not so sure that it's possible at this very moment for me to tell you how I can make myself happy. I'm searching for that one thing within myself that I can go to when I'm feeling unhappy. No one else is going to be able help me find the true source of my own happiness. It's mine and mine alone to find and to know and live and to be.

Strength. It's going to take a lot of strength to find it, this source of happiness within myself that I'm so willing to give everyone else but can't quite live off on my own.

Like a steady stream of water in the desert that everyone gets to feed off while I stand as the source, being drained until I'm left dry. Standing, waiting for some storm to fill me up, only to be drained again.

I have no option but to find my own source. I can't keep waiting to be filled.