Lubec, Lobsters, and Laughter

Dear Elena,

I picked you up from school today and thought of how much I miss you when we’re apart. Your fingers spread wide open, hands pressed against the window of the indoor playground. You saw me walk towards you and showed me that huge grin. Big, wide eyes, messy hair, and the turquoise bow still on. I picked you up, and you held my neck—a sweet tightness of closeness.

“Mama!”

I’ll tell you something: Growing up doesn’t change that gut-deep excitement of seeing your mom, no matter how long it’s been.

I wonder what goes through your head when I’m not with you. I know the rational answer to that question, but I still get curious. Do you wonder where I’ve gone or think of something we’ve done recently? Do you hold near the certainty that I will always get you, just as you hold Bunny Boo on our way to school?

In March, I wrote you a letter about spending time away from you. I hesitated until the very last minute, even more, when flight delays gifted me a few extra hours with you before our week apart. And what a week that was.

I explored something I’d kept locked for such a long time. I was moved by people’s genius and by unexpected ideas that poured over my notebook each day. You were in my mind every minute. I tried hard not to miss you, but instead, I wished for something like that for you. Do you promise to tell me if you ever go to a creative retreat and get overcome with inspiration?

What a week it was for me. I left that time in Maine with a project and a promise to return to that part of myself—A commitment to feed this creative muscle and climb the hurdles of a routine that battles with minutes of plain inspiration. Here I am, sticking to it.

Ask me about that week, Elena. Ask me about Ralph and Georgia and how she read my poems, forever changing me. Ask me about my response group and those days with Amy. Ask me about Lubec, lobsters, and laughter. Ask me about the magic I witnessed in that warm room, listening to people’s stories—stories that pulled me in and did not let go for many days. I will tell you all about them, their faces, and their vulnerability when writing. I will show you their handwritten love notes and encourage you to find a community with people like them.

In the meantime, here are a few photos of the time we spent apart. I’m glad I went.