Holding on

It’s holding on.

To time that’s already passed,

To tiny arms around your neck,

And to little legs around your hips.

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It’s holding on.

To worry and hope in one breath,

To the little things that they’ve outgrown,

And to the moments of being their world.

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It’s holding on.

To what was, what is, and what could be,

To the edges of the hard days,

And to the easiest love you will ever know.

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It’s holding on.

To your partner and your friends,

To photos and tattered toys,

And to memories you fear you may forget.

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It’s holding on.

To so much guilt,

To a heavy load which shakes you to your core,

And to expectations of what you “should” be.

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It’s holding on.

To your sanity,

To pieces of your former self,

And to a new version of you, both of which they have parts of.

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It’s holding on.

To new skin and old jeans,

To unrealistic ideals and pressures,

And to a former reflection that won’t let you let go easily.

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It’s holding on.

To what serves you as a family,

To what you know you need to work on for them,

And to the fragments of your mothering that doesn’t deserve a grip.

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It’s holding on.

To firsts and lasts,

To moments of magic in the mundane,

And to an ache of loving so deeply.

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It’s holding on.

To them,

To your partner,

And to yourself, in that order.

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It’s holding on.

To this intensely beautiful connection,

To this fleeting chapter,

And to this new life which will leave you wanting to hold on forever.

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It’s holding on.

So desperately that you feel weak all over,

So tight that your knuckles turn white,

So vulnerably that your heart feels exposed.

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It’s holding on,

And then one day letting go.