I have been struggling a little with posting a piece written about the end of an imaginary relationship with my mother. Though it is a fictitious relationship that I had in my head and heart for many years it still involves writing and posting feelings about my mother and our relationship today. I personally have no problem revealing my heart by posting it, the only reason I hesitate is because my mom is reluctant to have things posted about her online. So instead of jumping forward and posting it for the world to see, potentially hurting her in ways that I can only imagine, I have instead given her the opportunity to read and talk about what I have written. She has told me that she'll "think about it" - which is usually her backwards way of saying "No". So until she and I can have a real discussion about something that she doesn't remember and yet impacted me greatly when I was 6 years old, this poem by Kahlil Gibran will have to suffice.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
In service, love and gratitude.