It hit me the other day. Naomi is growing away from me, blossoming, growing. Just like her mom did over twenty-five years ago. I see her animated face, her expressions, her joys, her friendships, her occupations. It is so individualistic, so her. She is showing the signs of the fresh young woman she will be. She is blossoming. It is natural what is happening, her growing apart. Even when she tells me how her and her mom "nearly forgot your birthday" and worked 'till "one o'clock!" to put together a pretty gift basket. From Naomi I get a home made card crusted with stickers, declaring her love. I love her too, painfully so.
I see her bright future. More and more her network of friends and mentors will take over, and I will recede as one of the centres of her life to a friendly morning star. I will always be in her constellation, always watching and cheering her on, but I will no longer be the centre.The generations march on, and I am helpless to slow the progress. My joy will have to be to watch and marvel.
