That Quintessential Feeling

A daughter is a miracle that never ceases to be miraculous...full of beauty and forever beautiful...loving and caring and truly amazing. Deanna Beisser

My daughters made it back, safe and sound from Vancouver last night. A long weekend. A long drive. A long day. And they were happy. Time spent together. Time spent with their Aunt and Uncle. Time spent with their Grammie. Time spent by the ocean. With those they love. With eachother. Time well spent.

They walked into the house, laughing and chatting, carrying a cardboard box.

"What's that?" I asked my youngest daughter, Liseanne, as she put the box down on a side table.

"Oh. Some books from Auntie A." she replied, giving me a hug.

Her sister followed her into the house. "Where's the box?" Alexis asked.

Liseanne pointed to it and quickly added, "You should check out the books from Auntie A, mum."

They both stood watching me expectantly as I opened the box.

Tears immediately clouded my eyes. My heart felt warm. If books hold the wisdom of the ages, this gift held the wisdom of the heart.

I touched the cool surface of the object inside the box. I didn't want to lift it up. It was so beautiful, sitting there inside its cardboard container. So symbolic.

'It' was a red pottery bowl. But it was so much more than just a beautiful red pottery bowl. It was similar, yet different, to the one that I wrote about breaking in The Road Kill Salad two weeks ago.

"We couldn't believe the pottery store was open," Alexis said. It was a statement that would be repeated by one of my daughters several times over the evening.

They had driven into Field specifically to find a red bowl. They'd stopped at The Truffle Pigs restaurant to see if they sold them there, and were disappointed there were none. When they'd left, they'd spied the sign for The Velvet Antler Pottery shop down the road and run quickly towards it. It was 5:30 pm on a holiday Monday. They didn't expect it to be open. It was. They raced inside and there sat Ryan, the potter. They told him the story of the broken bowl. He was working alone. His wife had gone into Calgary for the day to share a Thanksgiving dinner with friends and family while he worked away at a commission. He hadn't meant to be there. But he was.

"We couldn't believe the pottery store was open," one of the girls repeated as they watched me lift the bowl out of the box and hold it gently in my hands. It felt so warm and cool all at the same time. If beauty had a feeling it would be love.

I placed the bowl carefully on the dining room table. It sits there now. A beautiful counterpoint to the over sized glass vase that holds an ochre candle on a bed of stones. It sits serenely in its place. At home. A deep warm red imbued with swirls of gold and blue and black. Shiny. Sleek. Perfect.

And what is even more perfect is the gift of love it holds. The gift of caring. Of thoughtfulness. Of cherished connection.

I am blessed.

When I became a mother, I imagined my relationship with my daughters when they were grown up. Warm. Loving. Caring. I imagined their sharing their life's ups and downs with me. Of caring for them. Of caring about what happened to them. Of where they were going. Who they were with and what was happening in their lives. I imagined their listening to my advice (and taking it!) and how we would laugh and cry and laugh some more over life's ups and downs, always connected by the circle of love that surrounded us where ever we went, whatever we did.

I never imagined this.

This feeling special. Feeling like I count. I am important. I am ... valued.

It is a gift. A blessing. A feeling to be cherished and nurtured and carried in my heart forever. It is that quintessential feeling of love, of contentment. Happiness.

I am blessed.

May you be blessed today with knowing you are special. Important. Valued. May you know your worth comes from your loving heart, from sharing in all that is beautiful and caring and wondrous within you. May you know love. May love know you. May you be love. May you be loved.

Nameste.