She lets go of her hand, and her hands stay raised as she toddles off across the room.
She lets go of the saddle of the bike as she cycles off down the path, weaving precariously.
She waits over the rail bridge, no longer at the school gates, until she appears full of tales and sometimes tears, of the day that's been.
She waves and gulps in the tears as the bus pulls out of the school car park, her face small and smeared through the window.
She sits in her pyjamas at 2am in a suburban street waiting to take her home for essential tea and toast.
She holds her tight as the ravages of anxiety flood through her body.
She steps back and watches from a distance as she steps firmly into her own future.
Leadership, a life poured out in love.
Perhaps all leaders should be more like mothers.
Comments
Post a Comment