Silver Spur Elementary is just on the other side of the canyon. Working from home, I’m close enough to hear the bells that signal recess or lunch. When Brooke and Blake were both there, I took tremendous comfort in the fact that I knew exactly where they were, and that I had a general idea of what they were doing.
When Brooke started middle school, I had to get used to the fact that she was several miles away. And now that she’s a literally a world away, I have to get used to that, too. I hate that I don’t know where she is. I wish there could be a bell, a signal..anything to let me know… something.
Blake is now a fourth-grader at Silver Spur so I’m often on campus during the school day. Walking to his classroom, I pause at the mural she painted with her Girl Scout Troop last year. There’s her signature… Brooke. Two little girls skip happily past me, holding hands. Across the blacktop, some older girls are sitting in a circle, whispering about the boys playing handball. This is a world, I realize. And for more than half of Brooke’s life, this was her world.
It dawned on me that, while Brooke was here, she was off experiencing her own life. While she shared parts of her day with me, there were probably many parts she didn’t share. So while I took comfort in her being physically close – just across the canyon – she was also a world away as she made the transformation from a shy little kindergarten girl to a confident fifth grade tween.
And all the while, she was just on the other side of the canyon. Close enough for me to feel secure, yet farther away than I realized. So what about now? Sometimes I think she’s closer than I realize. Because Brooke is always on my mind, and maybe that’s the bell or signal I’m longing to hear.