I spilled coffee on my white t-shirt this morning. It only seems appropriate. June and I both slept later than normal, too. There seems no reason to rush into the morning. Everything that is going to happen today is already set into motion. I watch the inauguration events unfold on television like a holiday party, plates and napkins here and forks to the right. I drink what is left of my coffee and intentionally fix the look on my face.
Down the street, the morning sky idles soundless over the ocean. Like a child pressed to her mother’s breast, you cannot tell where one begins and the other ends, and I am left in awe of synchronicity. The ocean is not partial like humans tend to be. Like the thousands of days before, the tide will wash ashore, then determined and deliberate, it will return back again.
Today I will spread a little more kindness than usual. I will hold June close to me and remind her how much she is loved. I will smile at strangers we pass. I will set my standards higher. I will remember why I wanted to become a mother and what I intend to teach my family. I will strive to be an example of love. I will fight the darkness with light. I will be the beating heart and the hope that I wish to see in the world.
Someday June might ask me about this day…where we were and what we did.. and I will have to come up with an answer. My answer will not be grand or special because for us today will not be grand or special; so I will stick to the truth, which never leads us astray. We were in St. Augustine, I will tell her, I drank an extra cup of coffee and we loved one another. Deeply.