And then I thought of a couple of my good quilting friends . . . two have lost their sons in the past year, another is facing having her son half way around the world for an extended time, and two are celebrating the professional successes of their sons. I have two sons. I love them both so much. They are wonderful men, fathers, and friends.
And I thought again of this poem. I loved it when my sons were leaving the adolescent years behind. I love it now with a whole new meaning . . .
Kids are like kites . . .
You spend years trying to get them off the ground. You run with them until you are both breathless. They crash ... they hit the roof ... you patch, comfort and assure them that someday they will fly.
Finally, they are airborne. They need more string, and you have to keep letting it out. They tug, and with each twist of the twine, there is sadness that goes with joy.
The kite becomes more distant, and you know it won't be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that binds you together and will soar as meant to soar ... free and alone.
Only then do you know that you have done your job.