First Birthday

Dearest Granddaughter,
Later today we will be celebrating your first birthday, which falls tomorrow.  I have baked you a carrot cake; I cannot remember the last time I made one.  What I do know is that it was an obvious choice given that I had baked this same kind for your mother on her first birthday too.
What you have shown me about yourself thus far:
You give freely of your kisses - to stuffed animals, pictures in books, friends and family.
Your entertaining facial expressions are an ongoing source of joy and laughter.
You enjoy eating, moving your body to music, and reading "Pat the Bunny".
You are not keen on cats nor the feel of grass under your feet.
You are confident and curious, partnered with a healthy dose of cautiousness.
You have a wonderful sense of humour.
You are beautiful.

As you grow older, there may be times when you forget how fabulous you are.  I hope not.  However, if you do, you can read this birthday letter to help remind you of your inherent beauty and worth.  During this first year you have brought a great gift to our entire family, just by being you.

Thank you for being born.

Love and kisses,
Oma

Spirited Balloon

On this gorgeous sunny morning, picturing a fully inflated, brightly coloured, helium balloon.  Imagining myself tying a message to its string before releasing it into the sky.  Limiting it to just one sentence. Taking a few moments to consider what that might be.  The perfect words showing up soon after.  "I am grateful for the set of attributes that I have come into this life with, and for all the experiences I have had to date, which together enable me to continue gaining wisdom and achieving growth in this lifetime."  Feeling confident in this spirited balloon's ability to carry my weighted words despite its seemingly delicate appearance. 

Cloud of Grief

Yesterday morning.  Blindsided by a heavy cloud of grief.  Blew in without warning.  Undeterred by the bright skies and sunshine outside. Stubbornly anchoring itself.  For no particular reason.  The date having no special significance.  Not missing them more than on other days.  It just happened.  This process of grieving so unpredictable.  Resulting in a 'holding my head above water' kind of day.  Profound sadness penetrating my entire being.  Weighing it down.  Tears flowing. Breathing laboured.  Despite meditation.  Not eased by the self talk of how much worse it could be.  Its firm grip remaining even after a long walk along the ocean.  Not relieved by a conversation with a friend or phone call to a relative.  Accepting this is what it looks like at times. Hopeful that today will be better.  Confident of being able to weather it if not.