I wept in gratitude, that you were healthy and strong.
I wept in terror and utter humility at this heart, this life, this little body entrusted to me to care for and protect, to serve, to support, to nurture.
I wept, already grieving the day we would no longer be together in a fleshly form.
I wept, for fear of death- something I had never felt so viscerally before.
What if you died? What if I did?
We will. One of us first.
I wept with a heart that already knows it cannot control these things- that life is full of tsunamis and disasters and other small horrors. I wept knowing that some day, some way, we would be parted from one another.
Never have I feared death, not in this way.
There have been times in my life when I would have welcomed death, and many days when I lived my life as well as one dead. But not now.
Your birth, your life has changed everything.
Never have I felt the inoperable, inevitable tear in my heart- knowing that loving someone this much, will result in sorrow of the same magnitude.
This weeping was right, was good and proper and timely. I recall it with a tenderness, a preciousness, and hold this luminous space as sacred.
What else can we do but break our hearts open to Love and weep in the face of the temporal reality of our bodies?
What else can I do but treasure every day I get to spend with you?
What else can I do but lay my head down, forehead touching ground, and give thanks for every little bliss?