Today my son took a walk to the YMCA park from home.
It both scares the shit out of me and makes me super happy that he knows all the bloody roads and lanes in the 1 km range of our home… maybe even more, mapped out in his visual brain.
He crossed 3 roads murmuring “look left, look right, look left, all clear.”
I was running to keep up with him. I was so scared but he reached there and it started pouring.
He wanted to swing.
So we swung.
In the pouring rain.
He looked joyous.
I felt light.
I laughed because I could not keep my eye open in the rain.
The leaves danced wildly and the branches swayed and bowed.
The rain felt cold and cleansing.
I laughed because it’s been such a mad, crazy, whirlwind of a journey with him.
I let go.
The journey is as much his as it is mine.
I am not in control.
We swung with the wind.
We swung against the wind.
We swung till the rain slowed down to a drizzle.
We walked back home holding hands, soaking wet, drenched with the experience and refreshed in it.