I have a large photo of my children, at that time age 4, and twins age 6 where they are running away on a forest trail near our house - their little sundresses waving, hair up in the air as they run full speed, my son catching up, their faces not visible, only their backs as they run. The moment I saw that picture in the photographer's g…
I have a large photo of my children, at that time age 4, and twins age 6 where they are running away on a forest trail near our house - their little sundresses waving, hair up in the air as they run full speed, my son catching up, their faces not visible, only their backs as they run. The moment I saw that picture in the photographer's gallery I knew I needed it and that voice inside said "they were never mine." It’s an image I pass several times a day and it reminds me time and time again, it's a bittersweet ache I’ve journaled about …
As much as I’ve wanted to claim you
I knew you were never mine.
I’d hold you up for all to see - kiss your tiny fingers, and toes - “these are my babies” I’d say.
"My babies", before anyone else believed me.
"My babies", a whispered dream, of a single, young woman.
"My babies", I told your father - the first evening as a family.
Try as I may to fool myself, I am no fool.
You are as much your own, as you are never mine.
And yet “Those are my babies” I’ll say as you run your own way in this world
I have a large photo of my children, at that time age 4, and twins age 6 where they are running away on a forest trail near our house - their little sundresses waving, hair up in the air as they run full speed, my son catching up, their faces not visible, only their backs as they run. The moment I saw that picture in the photographer's gallery I knew I needed it and that voice inside said "they were never mine." It’s an image I pass several times a day and it reminds me time and time again, it's a bittersweet ache I’ve journaled about …
As much as I’ve wanted to claim you
I knew you were never mine.
I’d hold you up for all to see - kiss your tiny fingers, and toes - “these are my babies” I’d say.
"My babies", before anyone else believed me.
"My babies", a whispered dream, of a single, young woman.
"My babies", I told your father - the first evening as a family.
Try as I may to fool myself, I am no fool.
You are as much your own, as you are never mine.
And yet “Those are my babies” I’ll say as you run your own way in this world
Until forever.
Decided to share the picture in my own post - https://open.substack.com/pub/feelwriterepeat/p/never-mine?r=48h6u3&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true