Connect means to tie together.  Like two ribbons, barbed wire, or cables on a suspension bridge.  As humans we do this often.  Every time we speak to someone, pass them or meet their eyes, we tie ourselves together just a little bit.

Holding a new human beneath your breasts is quite an experience of tying two humans together.  With the blue and red twirling cord, this little new being is melted into your body and the eventual kicks and turns yield a paste-covered, whining kicking someone unraveling in front of you.

Through the years, the connection seems to fade.  They walk across the street without you.  Then there is the first overnight with a friend and the week at camp.  If things go well, they move away.  On their own.  Visits are now the brief connections, and catching them on the phone–or email or text–is a sweet simple teasing treasure.

I’m glad I don’t believe completely in this life of air, space and time.  I am happy that I know my connection with my kids is spiritually endless and I can nudge them like my cat leans into me.  We are always tied together in the foreverland of love.