I can never regret the leap of faith that brought me here--and all the leaps, the times I didn't know what to do, my head spinning, my mouth dry with fear as I peered over the edge to the bottom below. There was a time when I thought I had crashed, my wings hadn't opened, I had fallen without grace or hope that I could survive. And yet I did. Today I look back up that cliff to see how far the fall was and how hard I landed--bruised and sore--but I did stand back up, and here I am.
I can never regret the mad dash acros the border and how we slept nestled after I convinced him not to take the pills he had poured into his hand. That we were running for our lives, for his life, that he had taken too many chances and offended someone with his arrogance one too many times. And yet the fact that he had lost it all propelled him to one more try. If he had not gone back to Mexico, he wouldn't have opened the business that made him happy the last three years of his life. You have to weigh the dream against the promise or was it just an illusion? Perhaps his sucess in the US could have happened, years later, but did he have years, this man who not only burned the candle at both ends but in the middle as well?
I can not regret that my life has brought me here to Minnesota, to grandchildren. Worth all when he puts his sticky hands aorund my face and says, "You have a nice face, grandma."
I don't regret that my wings took so long to catch air under them, that what felt like a crash was only a rough landing on earth, laden with my senses, burning with the weight of my earthern body, lit within by the beauty of the surprise.