Our kids really, truly, sincerely, with all their collective heart and soul, want a pet. Our daughter left us a note a couple nights ago, offering a simple linear expression of her hope. “When we move, and have a bigger yard, and a house with stairs, I would really love a pet. I love you.” (She’s really into stairs.)
“When we move.”
They know we will soon. On one hand, they’re excited. (They’ll get a pet!) On the other hand, they’re worried about missing their friends, their neighbors, their school.
I just learned today that one of our daughter’s best friends will not be attending the same school. Our girl will be heartbroken. But there’s a part of me that’s a bit relieved, as if this development will teach her to hold less tightly, just a bit, to all that is around her. Including people. That sounds awful, looks awful, as I type it.
But I want her, and our son, (and me) to be content, where ever we are, whenever that is. To know that whatever and whomever we love here, we can find “there,” too.
That moving is about addition, not subtraction.