Mother's Love

Monkey Bar Courage

All things are possible until they are proved impossible

and even the impossible may only be so as of now.

       You stand daredevil high on metal monkey bars, oblivious to danger. “Don’t,” I warn, “It’s not safe.” And you grudgingly oblige me and hang down closer to the earth. I stand guard anyway, but glance away for a moment, distracted by twilight.

       I turn back toward you, only to helplessly watch you fall to the ground.

       You get up gasping, your nose and mouth already bleeding. Horrified, I hold you tightly and try to absorb the hurt. You cry loudly from your pain, and I cry for all the ways I cannot protect you.

       But in a few moments, you collect yourself. With a long, quivering sniffle and a brave, shaky breath, you brush away the remaining bark mulch that I have missed and give me a slightly teary-eyed, crooked smile.

       “Mommy, I really want to get back on. And this time, I want to do a back flip.” You say this even though your lip is still bleeding.

       And in this minute my surprise co-mingles with awe, respect and pride, and I see more than my tear-stained three-year-old daughter standing before me. I see the raw material of courage. I see the makings of perseverance and determination. I see a girl with something that I didn’t put inside her, a girl who has something that nobody can take away. I see you, my daughter, a child who falls down but gets up and keeps dancing. And I see once again that I am the student, and you are the inspiration.

       As I hoist your small body up to the bar my thought is a prayer, for you and for me, Don’t even let go of this.