If I had told my five-years-ago self that one day I’d be able to sit in a chair at the beach and watch my three children frolic in the water, that self would’ve told me to go jump in that lake.
Even yesterday as I watched just a scene unfold, I couldn’t quite believe it.
Such an occurrence has been hard-fought and won.
And it’s really nothing for which I can take credit. Those little fish just grew of their own accord; tested their little fins and swam.
I somehow managed to keep all our heads above water in the meantime, but suddenly, I find myself with five minutes of peace on the beach.
It is an entirely foreign feeling.
A still, a calm, a quiet I never dreamt I’d get.
In the melee of raising three little ones, I never thought I’d have time to catch my breath, to rest a moment, to sit back and observe.
It’s one of those moments where time suddenly seems to stop and a truth of life is filed.
There are certain things I’ve overcome; certain markers I’ve hit; bits of joy to digest.
They’re hard to recognize when being pulled along with the current, but there are blessed moments of buoyancy.
One day we’ll all be able to bob to the surface.