From the moment of conception, we raced against our brothers and sisters for a chance into this world.
Then, there are those refusing defeat, either sharing a room together or in different corridors until one at a time, all find a chance into this world together.
Granted and given. That first breath upon warping into this world, unattached from any life support but one’s own.
Incredibly fascinating.
Still, upon arrival, the next race awaits. Amongst siblings, who will push through some more?
While not the birth tunnel of a mother’s womb, some even aided without the warping before entering this world, the rest of life, sometimes each day, sometimes each moment, becomes a tunnel of the unknown to be delivered into.
1 John 4:18 reminds us- There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.
Upon time to push, feeling our mother’s pains and agonies, we were called out to be delivered into this world.
Most, swimming forward. Some, feet first. Some, pulled from the belly.
Did we take our first cry as fear for ourselves or, fear for our mother?
Was the cry fear at all or a warrior within exclaiming, “Who dare hurt the one who has carried me?!”
Which of us cried for ourselves from the moment of birth? Which for our mother? Which bellowed a cry of thunder, ready to take on any battles of this new world?
Within the nature in each of us, a driven force has been subjected to thrust us forward to keep going.
The character of the heart, mind, body, and spirit, put to a test from that beginning to the eventual many beginnings again, and again.
At first, conception. Then, at the moment of arrival, survival to breathe in one’s own.
Before we can then begin the excursion of our senses, the warmth of a hold, that comfort, we cried for.
Love is what we felt from within. Love is what we search for upon exiting out and entering herein.
Which of us is most fearless in love?
We each took that first breath on our own upon the separation from our mother who held onto us for months short of a year, until we were separated at the umbilical cord, for a moment, separating us for the first time of any love at all.
I have mentioned I never recalled nor felt my Mama’s embrace or hold. Perhaps she did in my first years into this world. I am certain she did. I imagine her wonderful warmth as soothing, loving, and peaceful.
It is not to her fault I cannot recall.
I have mentioned how I knew why as to the absence of her touch and perhaps at a comprehensible age, I understood.
Two and a half years after I found myself in this world, September 7th, she gave birth to my baby sister only to have to bury her days after.
What mother should have to endure such?
My beautiful, amazing sister, who had made it through the battle of warping out of the tunnel to meet and join me made it only three days into this world before she could go no longer.
I was told I had been ready and eager for my sister’s arrival. But, she was the warrior who came bellowing out between the two of us, “Who dare hurt my mother?”
Papa, told that he may lose his wife, seeing his newest healthy baby girl born and taken away, could only focus his prayers on the mother of his children.
Little did he know, the one fighting the greatest battle was the one in another room, not pleading or fighting for her own life, but embracing just the three days she had been given so that our Mama could have the rest of hers.
My fearless warrior who won the greatest battle of all- giving one’s life for the one who carried hers. Fearless love.
Then, at the age of ten, three days before Mama and Papa’s joined birthday, one other, decides that their own life would need to be surrendered so that Papa and Mama could continue theirs.
The tears clustered around his eyelids, dried down to the side of his face. He heard perhaps that if he would have lived, he would be in a vegetative state, requiring Papa and Mana to take care of him for the rest of his life.
A warrior who had to choose between life or death, having just entered the adult realm, my dearest brother.
He must have heard the voices around him- the cost of choosing his life over those lives around him he loved.
Did those clustered tears within his eyelids and dried up tears down the side of his temples speak of the agonies he felt from the head trauma he received from his raging accident?
Was he battling out the decision instead to fight for his life or just let it go ?
He fought no longer to awaken from his last sleep. A surrender for whom?
I selfishly wanted my brother to live. I didn’t care about the state he would be in. I whispered only in his ear for him to wake-up.
He didn’t.
When Papa conceded with Mama to pull our dearest brother’s life support on that day, their birthday, I sang and hummed to myself in the bathroom while running in a circle.
The flatline, still too loud for my young voice to overcome.
My dearest brother, a warrior. Giving in to the wishes of his parents. Fearless love not for himself but for those he loved most.
There are the remembered, those who stand against all odds, defying anything that tries to hold them back from being ahead. They give themselves no option but to be the one. The irreplaceable or a major detriment to those counting on them if lost.
The rest are survival of the fittest left. These are the ones in fear of non-existence or being replaced.
Then, there are those who silently gave way for the rest.
Fearless in love I have reflected upon, understanding the depth of its scope.
There are those who go on social media to exclaim their love for others. The claimed love.
There are the quiet ones. The real warriors. The real soldiers. Those who know that lives were saved or not forsaken because of them.
My dearest sister and brother, I have lived, loved, and laughed not for one, not for two, but the three of us.
You made room for me to shine.
You have rooted me on.
You have believed in me throughout my own doubts and stumbles.
For us, I indebtedly live, hearing and feeling your cheers along with Papa and the rest up there who gather to look over me, my husband, children, and grandchildren.
Perhaps you both, sister and brother, stepped to the side so I wouldn’t have to. I lost amazing contenders by my side just so I could gain two incredible angels to watch over me.
There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.
To cast out one’s own fear for peace, love, and harmony for others around- perfect in love.
