I’ve never been really big on fear.
I jumped from the high dive at three years old-that belly flop hurt but I survived and it fueled my adventurous spirit.
I rode horses other people didn’t like-was bucked off a time or two but no broken bones so that didn’t slow me down.
My dad had an open cockpit biplane and we flew aerobatics over Colorado Springs-fanny pack parachute strapped to my butt “just in case”-upside down and round and round. We never needed to jump and landed safely every time.
Never been afraid of speaking in public.
Never been afraid of strangers.
Never been afraid of heights.
Until I had children and then I was afraid of nearly EVERYTHING for them.
I didn’t want any harm to befall these tiny humans carrying my heart outside my body. I wanted to protect them, to cushion them, to wrap them in a bubble so that nothing bad ever happened to them.
As they grew, I learned to let go- a little at a time. I learned you can’t prevent the scrapes and bruises and heartaches and disappointments of life. And I learned that a little “harm” made them stronger.
I forgot most of my fears and was again unafraid.
UNTIL Dominic was killed.
And all the old fears came rushing back. I wanted to lock my surviving children in a room and slip food under the door. I HAD to keep them safe.
Only I can’t. It is not possible for me to keep. them. safe.
All I could possibly do is make them afraid. I could make them afraid of choosing their hearts’ desires in an attempt to prevent more pain for mine.
I won’t do that.
I will not allow part of Dominic’s legacy to be that our family lives afraid.
I choose to release my children to make the best choices they can and to live boldly and unafraid.