It's instinctive. And it made me cry. Not a lot. Only for a few seconds, but enough to think again how difficult it is to eliminate attachments.

Sitting here at my desk, I just saw some baby goslings. They were born within the past twenty-four hours because their parents, two Canada geese, were alone yesterday.

The goslings are so small. Little, yellow balls of fluff waddling along on short, but obviously sturdy, legs. Five trusting cotton balls walking in line behind their mother and followed by their father. Instinctively I wanted to call out to my mother to come see them as I have in the past. But time passes, and my mother is no longer alive, no longer able to marvel with me at how quickly the babies can walk and swim. And I miss her and am sad.

And I cry.

And then I smile. 

And I am again aware that it is difficult to give up what can no longer be. Difficult to break long-held attachments. Difficult to move on.

Difficult, but necessary. 

Because on the other side of difficult is joy in having been fortunate, contentment with what is, and growth through understanding the suffering of others. And each time, we take a peak at the other side of difficult, it is easier. And quicker.

And each time the smile returns sooner.