It is early morning and my husband, who turned sixty six while we were sleeping, is savoring his birthday sleep-in snooze. I am awake and checking off list items in anticipation of our Thanksgiving trip to New York. Except...now I am taking that well deserved pause to reflect and be grateful. I reflect a lot but cannot seem to manage the pause, the writing of it. I realize that after the storms that life presents us, one must do a thorough cleaning of the debris shaken from the trees or the shelves or the soul sometimes...and then assess...and then rebuild... or at least re organize...be that the spirit or the space.
This Thanksgiving week is just that. I have been shaken loose by the mini eruptions of emotion as I again remember the loss of my mother and Bobs, just this year. They left us peacefully, before the full bloom of spring, two months apart. No doubt they have much to be grateful for, as their unanticipated(to us) passings, and their journey to final moments were brief... each accompanied more by a quiet tide of emotional suffering than a physical one. I imagine heaven is made of husbands to dance with once again, and sisters to share a word or a day with as well. It is a balcony from which to view the earthly goings on of those they call family, living a different life here, but one still familiar. I imagine there are no storms in heaven...much to be grateful for! I do believe they are with us still, in our manners and traditions, the capabilities and the challenging demeanors, the invisible bonds of love and angst, the ultimate "YES" and the struggles with forgiveness.
Thanks for the lessons ladies! For you I am most grateful. All the storms of those final years, the lessons learned about aging and graceful living, regret and persistence taught me what I am made of. Sadness still creeps in, like the leaves that blow into ones path even after the raking and the bagging of autumns debris is done.
Tears and spills stain the fresh tablecloth that covers the wear of the table. There is no hiding wear and tear nor pain and loss. There is cause for gratitude though...in the memories made at that table and the lessons learned so long ago about bounty, style, finesse, beauty. There is gratitude for endurance-for that is what is we soak in as a result of the ravaging waters of living. It is there whether we know it or not, appreciate it or ignore it. Like the calm after a storm, there is loss to face indeed. Steps may seem heavier and bodies so hard to energize. After all assessment, there are choices, and so many decisions to make...the stuff of exhaustion! Endurance finds us unexpectedly and we move on.
The year has indeed been stormy, accompanied by the whining and the tremors of incredulous happenings in the world beyond my doors. I could make the list of so much to be unhappy about, and forgive myself for the drowning of it in excessive eating or drinking or complaining or moping. But, the daughter in me has learned that this healthy body will not exit stress and malaise quite so easily! There is a breeze of fresher air gently lifting me from my chair, and a pink morning sky that signals a new day rising. I will follow the impulse to move to a place of gratitude once again.
Out on the harbor I am so grateful to see from my window, there lies a stillness...a calm. The day looms innocently and free of expectations. Let that be my vision as I head out into its arms. Let me be gently nudged by gratitude should the thoughts or occasion arise. Let nothing shake my sense of wonder, nor break the core of endurance I am building within. Then, like one who weathers a storm, I shall emerge ready to move on, beyond the debris and distractions to the shelter of a beautiful world...still. Thanks giving indeed!
Wednesday, November 27, 2019
Tuesday, October 8, 2019
Lost, Without a Map
Lost, Without A Map October 7, 2019
Life has a way of delaying some things...trips, new discoveries, understandings. In an effort re-enter this writers space, I recognize myself as a little lost and so in need of a map! I have always been one who appreciates the tangible evidence that a paper map can provide...the proof that roads exist and I will find my way, whatever the destination. There is no map for this space in my life. I am in need of a self guided rescue, one dredged from a weary spirit. Unlike the quick clicks that bring me WAZE and instant direction for the journey, spirit is sluggish today.
This day marks six months since I said goodbye to my mom. The spaces around me, whether at home or on the sidewalks of town are blurred by unexpected tears, appearing like pesky pedestrians on the edges of my path...not easily ignored or avoided. Writing, like the soothing touch of a travel mate in the passenger seat, will my recourse. I admit this may be an exercise in self pity, but some trips are just that, and must be endured.
Mom, even at her frailest, was true North. From the earliest times I can remember, she gave direction and example in how to conduct oneself in so many situations...but not the one that matters to me today. At times the weight of not seeing her stops me like a roadblock. The detours are necessary but just serve as a reminder that once again, I am not in control. I can dredge up one of her favorite mantras..."You have to talk to yourself"- a phrase that I know helped her through many a disappointment and challenge. But Mom...it's you I want to talk to!
You were so quiet in your final days, finding a gentle smile when you could, but mostly withdrawing. I know you were tired. I know life without Dad had become so very lonely, even as you tried to find companionship with the new and old folks in your life. None of us could compare to the routine and comfort that life with Daddy had provided. Your path in this life was slowly crumbling and you could only find your way to him.
I miss your strength Mom, even though I so wearied of those habits that diminished your health and well being. You knew what you were about...always. You did not trod an easy road to heaven, as you had a strong heart and the "bonne sante" that kept you vital, even to the week of your passing. You asked me, "Why is it taking so long" when you wearied of the process of dying. I could only whisper that all would be well and sit by you. How I wish I could have sat longer, and learned how one faces the ultimate challenge of letting go. I don't want to let go Mom! I look for signs of your presence. I believe they are with me, but buried too deep in my own nature and lifestyle to differentiate. I don't see you in dreams or signs Mom. Perhaps you were too big for a mere symbol to comfort me. Perhaps your legacy to me is to accept, to talk to myself and eventually find a temporary rest stop where I can feel your love, and smile with the assurance that truly we will meet again.
It's that road map thing that gets in the way of acceptance Mom. There is no document for this time, ...only faith and the experience of living the ride. I can do this, but I sure would love a glimpse of you in the rearview or the side mirror from time to time...just to know you're still part of my journey. Think that can be your new super power Mom...to share with the little girl inside me that still feels lost from time to time?
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