Today, on my way to work, I noticed a patch of beautiful blue irises growing next to the most brilliant crop of yellow tulips. The colors were so pronounced because it is going to storm today and the early morning light was that perfect shade of Payne’s grey, a color, I am sure, that is the catalyst for pretty much every love and longing song out there.
For some reason the spring flowers reminded me of my spring babies and the irises in particular made me think about how this is that last year of your teens. Blue irises symbolize faith and hope, while tulips represent a perfect love. No wonder they reminded me of you. Brilliant light, shining hope, impossible not to notice, the full promise of spring ahead of you. . .
I suppose driving quickly past the flowers made me a little nostalgic about time and its passage, how just yesterday you were playing Go Fish! with your stuffed bunny on our porch and yet here we are, Spring, 2019, and you are officially nineteen years old. One year of college in the books, a tumultuous and challenging year, but not without its highlights, the most notable of which was kayaking in the bioluminescent ocean in Puerto Rico, the sky lit up like a birthday party for Zeus and the water alive with magic and possibility.
I didn’t even realize how much I missed you until you came home from the summer. I know you hate sleeping with the dog and with me, but I have never slept better. Knowing that your pulse is an arms length away, knowing that you are safe and dreaming. It’s a fleeting moment. I love falling to sleep listening to your stories or hearing you crawl in after watching yet another late night episode of Game of Thrones with Will. I love not worrying about you walking home from a frat late at night or having your wallet or keys or phone. I am in awe of your ambition, your confidence, your compassion. You are one of a kind, my girl. One of a kind.
According to the world wide web, “in Chinese art, the iris definition most often supported is ‘the dancing spirit of early summer.’ The petals of iris blooms easily move in the wind, mimicking the fluttering of butterfly wings.” I cannot think of a better way to describe you. Who knew the internet might be more poetic than your own mom? Flutter. That is the word everyone uses to describe the first time they feel their baby move. For me, with you, that feeling has never left me. May your nineteenth year be one where you also feel the dawning of your most true self. I wish you love and adventure, deep friendships and wonderful mentors. Happy Birthday to the girl who has been there for me since before time and who continues to fill my life with such absolute joy.
I love you baby girl,