Once upon a time Craig called from the airport. It was nearly 11:00pm. His arranged ride, a resident getting off a shift around the same time his flight would be landing, couldn't make it for an hour. "Can you wake up the kids and come get me?"
Ummm, maybe a taxi, just take a taxi. Yea, yea. Click. Ugh. Call back, "we're coming." Between protests he agreed.
[Why was my heart dragging through rocks to do this? Here is why: my life's work is getting those kids safely settled asleep in their beds by the end of a day, each day. Don't wince at the strangeness of it: that I feel this is my life's work. Those kids safely settled asleep in their beds by the end of the day means they have been fed properly, they have played, learned, perhaps cried and hurt, I have nurtured them through another day of this life, one step closer to where they are going. Their so soft warm cheeks on the sheets, those still bodies rising-falling, those eyes already swelling with slumber, all this means I have done my job.]
I lifted, like moving fat sleepy kittens, each one from their beds to the car. Each with a cookie, we set off for a midnight ride to collect their Dad. Undoing that day's toil seemed painful, in fact I tired-cried as they giggled giddy in the streetlights, down the freeway, talking night nonsense to eachother tucked in with seatbelts and blankets. What is wrong with me? Why did I do this with a grudge? Why I am only learning barely that we do things or un-do things because we love. To love is to lift your heart out of the rocks where it drags and soar it high where giving yourself is light as air. Why am I only just now beginning to know this? After 30 years?