J and E are birds of a feather. Each loves a trip to the beach to overturn rocks and watch, with uneasy fascination, the sprawl and scramble of a consortium of crabs. Each takes pride in showing off their daily scrapes. Each has a belly laugh, which -- when started -- does not subside and usually spreads to those lucky enough to be in their good company. They are Rioux boys. Adventurous, curious, bizarre and brilliant. Their hearts are too big for their bodies.
There is enough alike between them to make it painful to watch their friction, for when they are at odds it is as though they are two jagged edges of the same broken piece, the same boy torn at the seams. I am a poor seamstress. I watch and wish and wonder and wail and, ultimately, wait for them to mend themselves. They do, they always do, but I am new at this and every fight feels like the first and last, the one to do our family in. For the sake of reminding as much as comforting myself, I acknowledge this has never come close to being true.
I would not choose a life without them. As much as they are two parts of each other, they are both the whole of my heart. Fortunately, though I am little, I have heart enough to hold them both, all their wildness, all their joy and fury. And fortunately I have the benefit of wisdom, borrowed from those who have mothered longer than me, to know that we will weather all these tempests. Our love will always be the strongest thing that passes between us, these boys and I.
No comments:
Post a Comment