Hello, Lia.
By the time you read this, I would’ve told you that I cried in the forest this morning, amid crows calling and doves gliding overhead. You would have asked, “Why?” I would tell you that I witnessed a fellow jogger and her boy, years younger than you, resting on the trail, enjoying a long, tight embrace. And I thought, “That used to be us. God, how I miss that version of us.” You would hand me a deadpan “okay”. We’d move on with our morning. Nothing sums up our current relationship better than this, I think.
Though I miss the smaller you, I don’t wish you were your clingy, smaller self. Despite you disliking hugs, kisses, and saying “I love you”, I know you do. And I love you. That’s what’s important. I have had my time with smaller Lia and I am at peace knowing that window has closed. Each year, I say goodbye to a Lia I cannot meet again.
It helps that I’ve never seen you as a life to be possessed. A parent who loves their offspring does not demand payback. She just does. Even the mighty Philippine Eagle, our Haribon, which can claim a large mammal’s life with one swipe of its claws, follows this natural wisdom. She simply cares for her young for nearly two years, bringing it food, keeping their nest strong, and teaching it to hunt and fly, until the little eagle’s wings are steady enough for flight. Until it builds and settles down on its own nest, away from home.
When I set off for my lone morning walks, you in school or still asleep, warmly cocooned in a comforter, I let you go a little like the Haribon. I give you back to the able, loving hands of the Universe and tell Her, “I understand I am not the center of her world. I am not bigger than her; neither does my life nor whims weigh more than hers. I am merely a conduit. She belongs to the world. Protect her as she works on building her nest and learns how to fly home to herself. As she comes home to You.”
It is bittersweet to let go. But isn’t all of life an act of loving and letting go? Someday, you will understand why my tears taste like salt and sugar. Why it tastes like life – one that’s lived deeply, fully.
Loving you always like a Haribon,
Mama
