Collecting honey
Of dreams
Nurtured
but not yet realised,
For the loved child
whose wings
were seized
Mysteriously
When more determination and assessments,
Speechies, physios and occ therapy
are not enough,
Fair child has stopped,
Regresses, slowly progresses
When there is finger-pointing
By those in authority,
When many hoped-for milestones
Have a recurring ‘not good enough’ theme
Parental love is magnified,
Torched,
Endlessly yearns,
It reclaims
Resurfaces, begging,
Where can my child and I dance
Happy orbital dreams!
beyond developmental trajectories?
I deflect ignorant stares,
Nurse my pride with emergency care
I predict nothing, mercifully,
Hear the trumpets heralding each new day,
Pick up the bucket wistfully,
I go and collect the honey.
“My patience, resolutions and beliefs are tested to the limits – sometimes daily.”*
Right at this moment one of my challenges is the constant, tuneless whistling from my elder son. When my boys were babies it was getting them to sleep or trying to figure out why they were crying. On any given day now, it might be squabbling, fighting, teasing, screaming, shouting or rudeness. Who’d be a parent? We might well question ourselves after the event, but we can’t very well put them back! Just how we find those inner resources, how we constantly demand more of ourselves, how we keep marching up that hill with a smile on our face and gladness in our heart at the sight of our ‘babies’ is one of life’s mysteries.
* © from Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007