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It's almost impossible to remember just when our family ritual began. It seems as if I've been doing it forever, yet I know there once was a time when a kiss on the cheek had seemed enough. Maybe it would be easier to address the "why" rather than the "when." Just what had prompted me to start this gesture that has now become so much a part of our lives? And who did I think I was, anyway?
I knew who I was-the person who loved those three little people from the depths of my soul, fretted over their every sniffle, and felt their pain of growing up in a world that is not always kind. I was their mother. I was their protector, just as a swan spreads her wings and covers her young like a blanket.
Unlike those babies who can stay tightly nestled under their mother’s shield, my little ones had reached the point of needing to test their wings. Beyond that front door was the world-or the rest of it-the part that is unprotected, sometimes unloving, sometimes cold.
Although life on my side of that door often seemed chaotic, it was a world of unconditional love. It was a world where tears flowed-but not as often as the laughter. Where hurtful words were…
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