I had a horrifying moment the other day. In the middle of work, clickety-clacking away on some spreadsheet on my computer, it happened. The world around me faded into a blurry haze and I felt the wholeness of the love that I have for my family, for my children. It was overwhelming. It was scary and heartbreaking and completely amazing. My ears rung, I got dizzy and my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. I couldn't breath. I needed them near me. I needed them in my arms to smell their soft hair and protect them from the big, intimidating world outside. I needed to smother them with kisses and find some better way to convey to them how completely I love them than the simple words "I love you". I was paralyzed with love. And then...the moment passed. And my fingers began again to click away on the keys. And I was fine.
And so I now believe that, although we think we are aware of how much we love our children, our love is actually incomprehensible most days. If we were capable of fully feeling that love, every minute of every day, it would paralyze us. We would never allow them to leave us. It is that deep. It is that whole. It is that all consuming and pure. And while I'm grateful for that moment of clarity, I really hope it doesn't happen again. My heart just can't take it.
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