Wide River

In many ways, the “typical” parents are now on the other side of a wide river, and there’s no bridge. How I wish there was a bridge. So I could simply cross, and be a part of them again. Like I foolishly thought I was once, when babyhood was shiny and new. And everything good was possible and everything scary was probably impossible. Now it’s all just impassable. I can’t keep trying to cross this divide. I’ll never survive. I can smile and wave from afar. But I’ll never truly go there again. I have spent too long wondering what it’s like there. Wishing I could live there. Focusing my mind and eyes on what is unreachable and intangible. But then I snap out of this futile fantasy and look around at where I am and notice others standing with me. I notice the different flowers, proudly swaying in their kaleidoscope of vivid hues. I notice things that only grow on this side. And I look down and notice him. A pinprick of light. And I hold my wonder’s beautiful hand as I always do. He smiles, and I no longer care which side I am on, only that we are together.