Umbrella Holder

But I will hold the umbrella.

Even as my children get older,

taller,

and closer to grown.

Even as I know life is both.

Sunshine and rain.

Immense joy and immense hard.

I can't stop the rain.

Despite giving it my all.

Despite deeply cherishing.

Despite loving unconditionally.

The rain comes.

In aches. In grief. In uncertainty. In trials.

I can't stop the rain.

And I'm not meant to.

Because I know it's on me

to protect them from life's storms,

but to also give them the skills to navigate the waters.

To guard them from the floods,

but to also understand some rain is needed for growth.

It's a sacred dance we do as their mothers.

It's a back-and-forth rhythm of shielding,

while trying to grow their independence.

It's trying to raise them to be ready and capable,

while still protecting and nurturing.

It's holding on,

while gently letting go.

I can't stop the rain.

And it's my job to teach them to maneuver through it.

But for as long as I'm able,

I will hold the umbrella.

Because while I can't stop the rain,

I can give them the gift of knowing

that whatever they're going through,

if the storm becomes too much,

there is someone who will stand beside them

and hold the umbrella.