so one of the blogs i read, unwed mother, is about an older pregant woman who has made the decision to give her unborn child up for adoption. i cannot help but read and reread an entry from last fall that included the following:

"...Khalil Gibran, on the other hand, says
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of Children."
And he said: Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts. For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness; For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
(From “The Prophet”)"

in so many ways that touches me, and tugs at the guilt that i harbor about being a mother. most days i hold my head high and deal with whatever comes. thats my job right? to handle it. my children need me, they depend on me. tons of other people raise children alone everyday, if they can do it i should be able to. but i cant. i feel like im robbing of my children of the life they deserve. the life that i cant provide. my mother worked her ass off for many years to keep take care of my sister and i. we wore hand me down clothes and rummage sale shoes. we didnt always have the fancy new bikes or the namebrand anything. we ate meals at home and played in the dirt for free. and we survived. in fact, we more than survived. what we didnt have monitarily, we had emotionally. who the fuck cares if we had rags or riches. we had each other. and not a single day passes where angie or i resent her for our upbringing. we respect and admire her. even more, we trust her. trust that regardless of what we do or say, she will be there. stick by us. and damn, im willing to bet there were days when she felt hopeless, and afraid. felt like she was cheating us. felt like there must be someone else in the world that could provide better for us.

when i sat down and originally started writing this, i was clutching the idea of how selfish i am for not giving my children up. for not giving them the chance for a better future. "For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable." for realising that this bow is far from stable. for not loving them enough to let them go, and flourish. but as i was writing, i was flooded with memories of my childhood. with emotion. with a stabbing, sick feeling. what if my mother had given up on us. i am who i am because of her. sure i may be a little obsessive compulsive or quick to anger from my fathers genes. but im an avid believer in the environment over heredity theory. she is why im devoted and loyal and honest to the core. she is why im rational and level headed even when my feet run away with me. she is why i strive to be kinder. wiser. better. i can only hope that one day my boys will learn the same things from their mother... the same one who was afraid, but held steady and never waivered...

most women spend their whole lives worried they will turn out like their mother. if only i could be so lucky.