The Joys and Perils of Being an Aunt

I was reading Mr. Lady’s blog tonight, and was completely struck by the painful beauty of her words. Go now and read this.

You’re back? You read it? Good.

Ok. Here goes:

I’m not a mom. These loins have not bought forth life. I’ve not been struck with either the joys or the fears of parenthood, of that terrible vulnerability of watching your heart walk around outside your body with no way to protect or defend it from the real dangers of living.

I do, however, have nine (count ’em) nieces and nephews who have no idea how precious they are to me. No idea whatsoever. Regardless of the words I whisper in their ears, the prayers lifted in the dark to an unseen God, the dreams and hopes for their lives. They could not possibly know any of this.

But it is true.

And, dear God in heaven, how I miss them. Every. Single. Day.

And may they, too, wrap themselves up with big red bows. A present for their aunt, who loves them so.

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