It’s that time of year again. Late May when school is winding down, deadlines are looming, and our summer trip is so close that I can almost smell the freedom in the breeze. At this point I can see plans in our future, the events that will happen after our trip and they don’t seem that far off….I sigh knowing that this trip will soon be a memory, photos on our computer to log and organize, stories to tell of our adventures or mishaps.  The endless cycle of life, moving so fast I just want to grab it and hold it, make it stay put for a moment so that I can realize it. The quickness of time is also obvious in the rapidness of Henna’s growth, as the closure of second grade rests upon me and with the inevitable push to third grade and beyond. 

Henna, whom is my best describer of feelings which most of us cannot put into words, last week, floored me with her take on a simple feeling. Let me further explain.  It had been a long day, and sometimes Henna in her tired state, but with some residual energy left in her, will describe herself as feeling she is “inside” a box, literally.  She then will run around the room, throwing her arms at the invisible constraints that she is feeling.  During these moments the best I can do for her is to distract her, bring down the walls for her by putting her in another place.   And what better way to replace your self but to turn on the TV?  Henna, who is normally not a big fan of TV, enjoys America’s Got Talent.  Whew.  So we sat on our big green chair in search of a distraction.  All was calm and it seemed to work.  Her need to run and push against the walls seemed to have faded away, and I was glad.  During the commercial break, we turned the TV off to avoid being given an urge to buy something we didn’t need and talk. Henna then began to tell me, in a calm and overly wise voice how the walls were gone…..or at least the walls did not bother her anymore.  Of course you gotta question your kid when they say something so profound, or at least to me in that moment it was profound.  “Were the walls still there”, I asked.  “Why don’t they bother you now”, I further questioned.  To which Henna stated, “I found the door.  It’s a big door so I know I can get out.”  Plain and simple mom, just like that.  I ventured on in my questioning about his door.  How come the door was not apparent a few minutes ago?  And can she go out this door to another place that doesn’t hold her in?  And why hasn’t she left the box?  I was fascinated by the clearness she was seeing all of this, and I wanted to know more, as it sounded so thoughtful and inspiring to me.  Henna then replied, again with indignation at my questions, “Mom, I slowed down long enough to find the door.  Everyone is in a box; they just need to find the door.” 

And that’s where it ended, this beautiful moment in which Henna showed me the truth so clearly and lovely. We are all in a box.  The door is there, but we need to stop and find it.  I love it.  I have tried to learn from this lesson she taught me.  How you might wonder?  I am no longer trying to stop time.  No longer am I lamenting as I did at the beginning of this story, about wanting to hold precious events…blah…blah. I am resting within the planning of the trip, enjoying the anticipation of it all and slowing down, inside my “box”.  As I say farewell to last years trip, I am realizing each moment, not looking to the next happening in time, but instead enjoying the one I’m in.  I know where my door is now. 

And just knowing it’s there makes me feel good; thank you Henna.