Friday the 13th

For a few moments on the walk to work I felt happiness rise and fall around me. I'd forgotten how that felt, just being glad to be alive after a long winter. I could feel something tangible, like love, like arms around me and thought of Jesse, felt that he was ok somehow, that we were all ok for now, and that I could make it just a little farther. And I heard a song that used to make me cry, but it made me smile to think of Jesse going on his way through whatever is next for him. And I don't know, I don't.

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable. --Khalil Gibran