A letter to my two sons.
Today feels like a good day to write you a letter. I am only a mother because of you two, and I want to give you the gift of words to mark this day.
You are bound to each other like a clam shell—brothers. Connected and forever a part of the other in a way unlike any other relationship you will ever have.
I ask of you both to do the following:
Return to the water again and again, that life force that brought you here, that element which will sustain and renew you throughout your lives.
Swim in the sea, often. Let the water hold you up and soften your pain and clear away your muddy thoughts. When the waves come in hard and strong and fast, jostling you about and turning your skin to ice and you feel you are sinking, let go.
The sea will hold you up. You will not sink, even when the waves hit their hardest, even when you are blinded by seawater—even when you are alone. In those moments remember that you are never alone. I am the water too, and I will be with you. We will float together.
You will not sink as long as you keep breathing, in then out. Do not hold your breath, for you must fill the sea with your bubbles. The waves will eventually subside. The calm will return and the sun will break through the clouds again.
I promise. I know this because I too have survived the storms at sea.
Peace will return, but in the meantime you must continue to breathe in air, blow out bubbles and feel every feeling that floods you.
And on those sunny days of perfection, when the tide is high and the waters like glass and you are perfectly content and feel full with happiness, rejoice and be grateful for that sweet moment. Take every drop inward to the center of your being and store those up for the hard times. You can tap into that well at any moment, of any day or night. Drink from your well whenever you are thirsty.
Please allow yourself the space and time to feel every feeling. The hard ones, the darkest ones especially need their time. Float with them, stay curious and while you wait for them to ease and soften keep your eyes open and look around. The sea has room for all of your feelings and thoughts. Acceptance and time will get you through.
Pause.
Notice each barnacle on each rock and each whisp of seaweed suspended in that watery world you share. Keep an eye for the crabs shuffling sideways along the bottom, count the clam shells and pray for the return of the starfish. Keep an ear open for the call of the eagle, the high pitched cry of the seagulls above you. Be prepared to meet a seal brother or sister. Do not be afraid. You are of them and they are of you.There is room for the both of you— for the sea and land and sky hold everything. Notice the beauty everywhere.
When you need to rest, ease onto shore and sit close to the incoming tide. Close your eyes and listen to the whispers of the waves.
Know that when I carried you inside me and you rocked in my ocean, suspended, growing, our hearts beating together I took you swimming. Water within water, you swam, my body a boat heavy with hidden treasures.
Back then I had no idea what gifts and challenges motherhood would bring to me. I had no inkling that I could love another human this much, feel so vulnerable, so desperate to protect and determined to nurture and guide well.
You arrived with no compasses, no maps, no charts, no manuals, no recipes, no instructions. Like the sea, of the sea, you both came to us wild and free, shockingly beautiful and fantastically unique.
Keep swimming, my sons. I have more questions than answers as each year rolls by, but my love for you both is boundless and limitless like the sea.
Build yourselves strong boats, stitch bright sails, rework your own charts, use the stars to guide you across the oceans and watch for whales.
And when you need a safe harbor, know that you will always find one with me.
Love, Mom
P.S. And if you ever need a swim buddy, you know where to find me. Nothing would make me happier.
Mary Swims 