The billowy fluffs float on the breath of my little girl's secret wishes. I watch her spread the dandelion seeds and smile. Who decided these were weeds anyway? I love dandelions. They are vibrant and stand alone until it's time to change into impossibly soft wisps. Then they wait until the wind slowly carries them away -- to land where they may. No plans. No set path. The dandelion seed waits with hope.
Recently, this is how I have felt. Like a dandelion seed floating. Waiting to land and bury myself into the soil. Waiting to grow. Waiting to change. Waiting for what comes next.
I don't know why I feel this way, but it's where I am right now. On the cusp of a transformation I still don't understand, a future I can't yet see, an uncertainty that feels scary and confusing but exciting at the same time. Some days, I think I know what is in store for me and my family and then, everything becomes unclear.
I sat with my mother the other day, and she said that I was not alone. She, too, is floating. As a new widow, she is trying to figure out what comes next. She is learning to navigate life without a partner for the first time in her adult life, which leaves everything so ambiguous. My youngest sister is there, too. She graduates college in a little over a week and she doesn't know what comes next either. She is filled with so much hope and promise, yet the journey is unknown. My other sister gave birth to a beautiful baby boy two months ago and she is also floating. Waiting to see where this adventure will take her. Her heart is telling her that she needs to start on a new journey, yet she has not figured out what that journey will look like.
With so many people in my life floating, I have to wonder: Why? Is this just a coincidence, or are we in part floating because our hearts have this big gaping hole from the loss of Daddy? Is this what grieving feels like? Is this what happens after a sudden impact? Does everything you know to be true vanish into a temporary haze?
Or are we floating because he filled us with so much love that we are now lighter than air? Perhaps his final gift was to fill each of our souls with a hope and promise for the future, a future that does not have to be scary or sad but instead, beautiful and special... a future with new dreams and lots of laughter.
Like anything, I suppose the answer is rooted in what each of us choose to believe. Perspective is so personal -- like faith. You either choose to believe or you don't.
You try to make sense of everything. You try to make plans. You try to set your own course. That is until you find yourself floating. Not because you are lacking something, but maybe instead, because you are so full and ready for something different.
I have faith that my mother and sisters and I will eventually land. We will allow our roots to spread and grow until it's time to change again. I will not be scared or anxious through this journey. I am the dandelion seed, waiting for the wind to take me. Waiting with hope and promise. Waiting with love.
This originally appeared on Tiny Steps Mommy.