As the years have gone on, I have settled into a wonderful sense of peace with the relationship that I have with my girl. Certainly it is very different from those of typical mother/daughter, yet it is a comfortable space that we share. We spend time planning out next outing to the coffee shop or library, what short trips to the store we might take, and hitting up our favorite lunch spot. We do not talk about heavy subjects, and she is the wise teacher of staying in the present by rarely talking about the future.
And yet, that pang of sadness that comes when least expected. The awe of watching a mother and her daughter interact. Wondering what it must be like. It took me by surprise as I caught myself gawking at what appeared to my eyes as something remarkable and even perhaps foreign. To others, it may appear an everyday phenomenon .
I watched the duo enter the yoga studio for the first time together. Mom had encouraged her 14-year-old daughter to join her for her first practice. Showing her where the mats were located, choosing the perfect spot, unrolling the mat, and then facing each other to chat while the room filled with other yogis.
It was as if I was separate from this space and I felt myself feel things that I have not felt for many, many year. It reminded me of the first day of kindergarten and feeling hopelessly heartbroken that my girl screamed with terror as the bell rang. A disheveled mess of tears and twisted clothes, I was not on the receiving end of happy goodbyes and cheerful excitement of the first day. I sat in my car and wondered if it would ever be easier.
It has been easier. And it has been beautiful. And yet, I have a space in my heart that yearns for the relationship I do not have, and that I will never have.