Before I Answered the Text

My son is getting married in Cancun in a month. I am elated. He and his fiancée have dreamed up something magical. Two families, gathered in one place.

This morning, two texts came in from two of my brothers. Neither of them is coming.

I haven’t answered yet.

Hurt comes first. Then anger. Then disappointment. I watch them move through me like ducks floating down a river. One. Then another. Then another.

My mind won’t let them float. It wants to grab each one and give it a story. I don’t matter. I never have.

It reaches back and finds the golf course. Four of my brothers, away for their annual golf week. Without me. I hear about it afterward.

The words I could send sit behind my teeth. Sharp ones.

And then I remember.

I don’t have to stand in the river. I can rest in the awareness that was here before the texts and is still here now.

My breath drops into my belly, deep and slow. Something softens. Love rises through me from somewhere beneath the hurt. My mind goes quiet.

When I turn back toward the two texts, most of the ducks have floated on.

The words on the screen haven’t changed. I have.

One small ache stays. I don’t push it away. My awareness holds it the way I would cup something tender in my palm.

My brothers aren’t coming to the wedding. That’s still true.

They are free to make their choices. I am free to have my feelings about those choices. Neither of us has to change for love to be here.

I can write back from here. Not from the hurt. Not from the story. From freedom. From love.

My son is marrying the woman he loves. My brothers are living their own lives. One small ache remains. And in the stillness of pure awareness, I feel love holding us all.

Is there a text, a call, or a choice waiting for your answer right now? If you’re standing in the river with it, I’d love to sit with you there. Let’s begin a conversation.