I don’t know if I’m brave enough to love you, only to have to let you go.
I don’t know if I’m brave enough to wake up without seeing your little heads next to mine on my pillow.
I don’t know if I’m brave enough to watch you learn to ride a bike, to see you put on a school uniform, tie your laces, and head out into the big wide world on your own.
I don’t know if I’m brave enough to watch you navigate the schoolyard, make friends and lose friends.
I don’t know if I’m brave enough to walk you to school without you wanting to hold my hand.
I don’t know if I’m brave enough to see you fall in love, have your heart broken, and try so hard to find the right one.
I don’t know if I’m brave enough to watch you try to find out what it is exactly that you want to do, and then try your hardest to succeed in it.
I don’t know if I’m brave enough to see you sail the rough seas of adulthood, away from my protective wings.
I don’t know if I’m brave enough to be your mother, to hold your hearts in my heart, and feel them beat even when you’re not with me.
Each moment with you is like a pearl, strung on a thread linked to my heart, with the pearls falling away one by one; an endless necklace of memories that I can barely touch before they slip out of my grasp.
Each memory is impregnated with tears, joy, laughter, exhaustion, frustration and tedium.
I don’t know if I am brave enough to love you the way I should. But I get the feeling that it doesn’t matter, because my courage comes from your eyes, your smile, your touch, and the things you say that make my heart soar and break it at the same time. Like “You’re the best mummy in the world”. I feel like this is true, and not true, all at once. Whatever courage I have, it mostly comes from you.
You are the ones who are brave. My deep well of courage comes only from your enthusiasm, your innocence and yes, your boldness. I put my hand in your tiny ones, take a deep breath, and go forth each day with hope, love and no regrets.