For My Family

with love, Ma

For Zak, Bean, and Ev

My beloved family-

This morning I am peeling eggs,

cutting an avocado,

and the light is doing what light always does—

falling where it can.

You are adults now.

You have lives, directions,

places you might be.

And still, you are here.

You have chosen this table,

this house, this day.

I notice.

I am grateful.

Outside, the snow waits,

patient and bright.

Inside, boots line the door,

snowboards rest against the wall.

The morning gathers itself without hurry.

Nothing is asking for more.

I watch you getting ready~

laughing, bumping shoulders,

still half-dreaming,

already alive to the day.

And my heart says,

softly, this is enough.

Soon the mountain will take you.

You will fall and rise,

learning again how joy lives

inside the body when it trusts the ground.

Later,

there will be food—

porkchops,sauerkraut, broccoli,

the kindness of leftovers.

Games spread across the table,

arguments that dissolve into laughter,

hands reaching for seconds,

for cards, for each other.

We eat together~

as if this were the oldest wisdom,

as if love has always known to show itself

in chopping and stirring,

in sitting side by side.

The world may ache.

Let it.

Here, we are practicing attention.

Here, we are practicing belonging.

Zak.

Bean.

Ev.

We know the world is heavy.

We know there is suffering, confusion,

darkness that does not sleep.

We are not looking away.

And still~

we give ourselves permission

to be right here.

To play.

To feel safe.

To let joy move through the body without apology.

This holiday is not an escape.

It is life arriving quietly,

asking only that we notice-

that we stay

and love what is already here.

Today, we remember:

even now,

life is offering itself-

and we are allowed

to say yes.