radiant: a point in the heavens at which the visible paths of meteors appear to meet when traced backward.
I really like this definition.
A good friend of mine is about to have a baby. She’s absolutely radiant. Dear friend, I can hear you blushing and your adamant denial. But I hate to break it to you, you are simply RADIANT. And not just in the glowing or light-emitting sense of the word (though she is in fact aglow). You are that point in the heavens. That core from which all the members of your family ray out. All of them taking their own paths only to be traced back to you – the centring soul of your family. Yes, husbands are there right beside us but only mothers can claim to be the point of entry into the world. How wonderful is that.
It’s been a long time since we’ve had a brand new baby in this house. I miss this part – the last weeks, the anticipation, the nesting, the preparations. I miss birthing. I miss the work of it. The truest labour of love. The moment when your child begins their life path outside of you.
I do feel like my children have burst forth from me. Some are like large meteors, picking up speed, and hurtling toward the surface of the Earth crashing and bumping into other projectiles along the way – the faster, the better. Others are smaller and are content to stay close and meander on a less steep trajectory, occasionally drifting back towards me.
My eldest is getting ready to leave on a trip that will take her away from us for awhile. She will be on a journey that will be out of my range, my line of sight. I remember welcoming her into the world. Upon first meeting, I whispered in her little ear, “Oh, it’s you! I know you. Nice to see you again.” Her orbit has been more of a spiral in the last few years – a slow and steady outward spiral away from me. It’s been a gentle distancing but it hasn’t been easy for me.
At some point, all my children’s paths will take them far away, away from my centre of gravity, breaking free from their orbits around me. They will be their own point in the heavens. But I will cling to the thought that no matter where they go, or how far they travel, their paths can always be traced back to me.
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Trying to survive the February blues by getting my write on with writealm:
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