They say that every atom in our body was once a part of our universe. Stars and fragments of greatness are now flowing through my body and with each pump of my heart, microscopic bits of the world are mixed with blood and cells.
Do our future family members hide out in the sky, instead of intangible and unimaginable space and darkness? What if the stars weren’t our ancestors, but instead, our grandchildren looking down and waiting for us to understand our choices give them meaning. Mere stars that everyone claims to wish upon could be so much more. Essentially, are we giving our children the power to dictate our most precious wants?
If the stars are pieces of what’s meant to come in exploding glory- we are walking on the decomposition of the past. I don’t find this as revolting as one would think. In entirely metaphysical terms, we are walking, somewhat guided by those before us, and looking upwards to those that will come. It makes sense to me and gives me peace.
I have no idea of my past. I suppose it’s like walking blindly through a museum of a civilization that I never knew existed. A million year old clay pot doesn’t hold fantastical value when it’s simply mud and water. Without a story, or someone claiming its worth, it’s hard for me to put a price or care on something I’ve never known.
Being adopted has given me a sense of apathy. I have nothing to study, address or otherwise argue that I’m not a part of. But, it’s nights like these when the only sound outside I hear is the slow push of the wind through the gigantic evergreens and I know that the past that flows through my veins. I am connected to something greater.
I’ve never looked for my birth mother. Excuse after excuse. “It’s too expensive. What if she’s dead already?” Everything clouds my mind until I realize, my heart tells me that I never really cared where I came from, I just care where I want to go.
I watch my daughter sleep, sometimes. The tiny puffs that emerge from her mouth and the contented sighs as she rolls over or adjusts her arms above her head remind me of everything she was when I was able to hold her in a single hand. We were a whole being, once. I felt her butterfly, ninja kicks inside my abdomen. With a wild trust, she forced herself into the world? I knew she was remarkable, simply because she is here. A perforated piece of myself, growing before my eyes, like a science experiment gone horribly right.
Even when I feel most lost, I countdown each moment until 3pm, when I pick her up at daycare and we can explore together. Today we went for donuts and milk and then to a park. She has inherited my complete and utter boredom for the contemporary, or ordinary. Yet, she’ll find the prettiest flower, or marvel in tiny bugs only to show me as if they are the most magical and wonderful thing in all the world. I want to freeze preschool and savor it forever.
I’ve always told Ava, “I love you more than the moon and the stars.” I meant it to mean that the type of love I was trying to harness? Was unattainable by all measures. For you couldn’t hold both the moon and the stars, therefore it was so great that the very idea that she could even imagine the vast number, was utterly impossible and silly. I hope she’ll understand someday that I love her more than the past and future, more than what stars may hold, or not hold.
I think I must be happiest right now, as ironic as that may seem. I look out my window nightly as it plays an authentic soundtrack to working on perfecting my craft. I am blessed. I keep reminding myself to cherish it all before it explodes. If I am another example of a shining enigma. She may not understand me as a whole, but I pray she looks up to me as I look up to her children in the night sky and know that it’s all happening because we’re so, so, loved.
“We were but stones, your light made us stars.” -Pearl Jam