Only One

I looked into the pool and realized that she is the only one. She is my only child left who requires swim lessons. The others have maxed out their lesson time. They're too old now. So, it's just her. The only one.

How have I arrived at the place where I only have one child left who will hold my hand as we cross the parking lot? Even at 7, she won't always willingly slip her hand into mine. There are times when I beg, and even plead, for her to grasp my out-stretched hand. Most of the time she gives in. She lets me soak in the last remaining chances to cling to her childhood.

They were once all small. Each needing hand holding simultaneously. It seemed that everywhere I walked, I shuttled them with me like ducklings. I longed for the day where everyone could buckle their own seat belt. The grass felt like it would be greener in that place.

But now, I look into the pool and find myself watching my last child learn how to float on her back. I've arrived in that greener place. Everyone can buckle their seat belt. They can feed and bathe themselves too. I like this place, this season. But, when I look around me, it's still just, green. Not greenER. Just green.

Maybe each stage we reach is only that. Nice, lush and green. With its own new places to sit back and enjoy the sun. Surrounded by patches that are downright irritating and make you long for future greener places.

So, for this moment, I look into the pool and I soak up all the joy that this sunny spot holds. This nice place where everyone can read their own book in silence. Because I also know that within this nice, green space, are thorny sections that make me want to run away. Those spots where teenagers argue and sisters fight and parenting skills are stretched to the limit.

I am continually reminded to find joy in this journey. In this moment. In this stage. Not someone else's journey. Just mine. The one where my last child is the only one learning to swim.

There is no other place greener than where I now stand. Forever here.