Sunday, February 13, 2011
An Expectation of Spring
Bands of light and shadow
play against the trees,
the sun setting behind fences
lining the lonesome road.
A hawk sits high on the wires
stretching from farm to farm
linking lives unknown.
Surveying the field
for a mouse, vole or shrew,
He waits in solitude
calm, deliberate, deadly.
The fields lie fallow
with an expectation of spring.
Snow clings desperately in the shadow
of hillock and furrows
refusing to yield to the sun's warmth.
Only an fleeting glimpse of green
promises that resurrection is near.
I watch the hawk,
sitting high above me
as I stand in the curve of road.
He turns his head and for a moment
we see one another,
eye to eye.
His amber glance seems a harbinger
of warmer days and lingering light,
before he breaks away and soars
lost against the glare
of the setting sun,
flying into the darkening night.
play against the trees,
the sun setting behind fences
lining the lonesome road.
A hawk sits high on the wires
stretching from farm to farm
linking lives unknown.
Surveying the field
for a mouse, vole or shrew,
He waits in solitude
calm, deliberate, deadly.
The fields lie fallow
with an expectation of spring.
Snow clings desperately in the shadow
of hillock and furrows
refusing to yield to the sun's warmth.
Only an fleeting glimpse of green
promises that resurrection is near.
I watch the hawk,
sitting high above me
as I stand in the curve of road.
He turns his head and for a moment
we see one another,
eye to eye.
His amber glance seems a harbinger
of warmer days and lingering light,
before he breaks away and soars
lost against the glare
of the setting sun,
flying into the darkening night.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Saturday ramblings
It's been a long strange week since we lost our little Mo.
Maggie the insane cat has been moved downstairs, equipped with a magical "Anti anxiety" pheromone collar that seems to actually be working. She is still a bit schizoid alternately loving and fearful but the fear is lessening.
Mo was her main adversary and they fought anytime they had contact. Kizzie just ignores her as she does the rest of the household until she is hungry. Jake finds her endlessly fascinating...
The Hubster and I have had glimpses of each other this week. Work has been the frantic end of the month scramble to see clients despite the snow, ice and school closings. The hubster has started rehearsing a play. His energy is still not up to long days so he rests when he can, works when he can, but all in all is making progress.
I have been sorting and letting go of things. Slowly. Transition is hard for me. But last Saturday I spent time at the other house with my sister, laughing, talking, peeling wall paper... just being with her helped ease the grief I was feeling.
My sister has been and still is my champion and my hero. Now that we are more peers than big sis and little sis, our relationship has only deepened. I cannot imagine my life without my siblings. My brothers are awesome men, each different but so admirable in their strengths.
I love my family. Last week I took part in a research project and at the end we had to fill out a survey about our family life... I have a great family. Looking back over my answers I saw a pattern: love and respect for each other. Not to say we didn't disagree or fight, but we forgave and loved each other no matter what. It was interesting to see in black and white what I have always known in my heart.
I am blessed to have never known a day without love in my life. Not everyone can say that. I realize how very rare it is. Even thought loss creates a deep pain, a rending of the heart, I know without doubt that the depth of my sorrow is so deep only because that was the depth of love that I knew...
Someone once asked me if it was worth it, loving so deeply and hurting so hard.
I answered without hesitation. Yes, it is. Love is always worth the pain. Always. Because eventually the pain dulls, but the Love never dims, never leaves. The Love always remains...
Maggie the insane cat has been moved downstairs, equipped with a magical "Anti anxiety" pheromone collar that seems to actually be working. She is still a bit schizoid alternately loving and fearful but the fear is lessening.
Mo was her main adversary and they fought anytime they had contact. Kizzie just ignores her as she does the rest of the household until she is hungry. Jake finds her endlessly fascinating...
The Hubster and I have had glimpses of each other this week. Work has been the frantic end of the month scramble to see clients despite the snow, ice and school closings. The hubster has started rehearsing a play. His energy is still not up to long days so he rests when he can, works when he can, but all in all is making progress.
I have been sorting and letting go of things. Slowly. Transition is hard for me. But last Saturday I spent time at the other house with my sister, laughing, talking, peeling wall paper... just being with her helped ease the grief I was feeling.
My sister has been and still is my champion and my hero. Now that we are more peers than big sis and little sis, our relationship has only deepened. I cannot imagine my life without my siblings. My brothers are awesome men, each different but so admirable in their strengths.
I love my family. Last week I took part in a research project and at the end we had to fill out a survey about our family life... I have a great family. Looking back over my answers I saw a pattern: love and respect for each other. Not to say we didn't disagree or fight, but we forgave and loved each other no matter what. It was interesting to see in black and white what I have always known in my heart.
I am blessed to have never known a day without love in my life. Not everyone can say that. I realize how very rare it is. Even thought loss creates a deep pain, a rending of the heart, I know without doubt that the depth of my sorrow is so deep only because that was the depth of love that I knew...
Someone once asked me if it was worth it, loving so deeply and hurting so hard.
I answered without hesitation. Yes, it is. Love is always worth the pain. Always. Because eventually the pain dulls, but the Love never dims, never leaves. The Love always remains...
Monday, January 24, 2011
Winter
Winter
by Martha Parks Johnson
The first snow would fall
in the secret of night.
I’d wake to find
A wonderland of white ice.
My breath would lightly
frost the window
and I would hug my quilt tight
as Daddy stirred the sleeping
embers of fire
into waking blaze.
Later bundled in his old Pea jacket
in boots a size too large
I would step the first step
into the hushed wilderness.
I would wander throughout
the field discovering tracks
of squirrel and fox,
pausing to see
the tiny chit chit scratching
of chickadee and wren.
In the orchard
trees were black against
the aching whiteness,
stark and gnarled like an
old man’s hand upon his cane.
The cedars feathery and green
defiant in their vividness
danced along fence rows
as I clapped with delight
startling the jays and grackles
into flight , dark specters
against the jewel blue of sky.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Another hard day...
Little cat with a big attitude. Inside the box were 4 others, all flame point siamese. Someone's show girl kitty must have gotten loose one night and had a party.
Of course the little odd one came home with me. He was MO, for "one mo' cat or no mo' cats" but of course that didn't happen either. But he was always the alpha cat in the house. He was the first one out to greet people, popping up into their laps to say Welcome. He was the eternal kitten~ given to wild running jags through the house, leaping into the air from chair to chair...
He loved to play with toys, chasing things for hours. He graciously accepted others into the house but always let them know he was the boss.
He and Buddy Love were the bonded pair. Always snuggled together, sharing a basket, a sunbeam, a bed. For years the two of them slept with me and the hubster, curled between us, purring us to sleep.
As the years went by, both Buddy and Mo began to age. To slow down a bit. But still strong personalities making known that they were the top cats.
Buddy finally succumbed to renal failure last year at age 22. Mo seemed a bit lost without his life long Buddy. Suddenly it seemed to us, Mo turned into a little old man cat. He slept more, played less. Didn't harass the other animals as much, even stopped hissing at Jake.
Then he became ill, a serious round of pancreatitis that nearly did him in. He lost a lot of weight. He was never over 8 pounds but was now down to 5 pounds. He spent lots of time purring my husbter through cancer treatments. He spent hours in Mum's lap as she stayed with us, knitting or crocheting away the long hours as the hubster fought his battle and won.
Just a few weeks ago I started fluid therapy with Mo. I started enticing him with anything he would eat, boiling chicken gizzards, livers, whatever he could eat and keep down. He seemed to enjoy the special food, the extra attention, but not the pills, not the fluids.
Finally this week he began to tell us it was time. He would walk up to us, and stare at us and silently meow. Asking for something that we couldn't or didn't want to discern...
The past few nights, I knew. I knew the time for release was coming.
I didn't want to let go. We have lost so very much in the past 2 years. Family, friends, pets, our home, and came close to losing others...
Death has been once again too close a presence in my life.
And now, I had to turn over my kitten to that presence.
Last night the hubster brought Mo into the bed for a last cuddle. He slept curled against me, a very faint purr lulling me to sleep. This afternoon I sat and held him, soaking him with my tears, petting him, loving him, telling him how I would never forget him, how I loved him, how much my heart was hurting. He lay quietly, occasionally reaching with his paw to touch me.
We drove the snowy roads to the clinic. The hubster being so brave for us. We entered the room where we have been before awaiting the same outcome...
The doc who has taken care of our babies since Molly Dawg, came in the room. He knew by my face all was not well. We talked about symptoms, the decline in the past week. He gently examined Mo, noted the weight loss, the fluid buildup and confirmed what I knew in my heart. My Little Mo was dying. All the time, the Doc kept petting him, gently and softly. He explained the ritual again, knowing that we knew, but somehow easing the pain by telling the details once again. He expressed his sorrow, shared a few stories and then left us for some time together after giving Mo an injection to make him sleepy.
The Doc came back, this time with "the pink shot". He gently took Mo's leg, injected the pink stuff and stood quietly with us petting him as his life slipped away. Again I cried, my heart breaking. The Doc allowed the hubster and me some time alone with our little Mo. I left so the hubster could say goodbye. The staff stood by, eyes glistening sharing our pain.
It was over.
Home to an ever more empty house. It has been a long time since we have had so few animals in our life. Now just 2 cats and an insane Golden Retriever. Both the girls, Kizzie and Maggie are getting older too.
I know the cycle of life continues, Death does not conquer Love. But somehow this one day was the hardest of all. It felt like something ended when Mo slipped away...
I don't know what ended today. I do know we couldn't let him linger or suffer. That would have been unfair to him. He gave us too much happiness and joy to let him suffer one more moment of pain. With breaking hearts we said goodbye, hoping that there is a place in heaven for little cats with a big attitude...
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Goodbye 2010...
So it is over. The year that was possibly the worst of my life is over.
It ended on a sad note with the news that my dear friend Alan died at around 5 pm on New Year's Eve. Our mutual friend called in tears and said simply, "He's gone."
Death is simple, its the living on after the loss that is complicated and hard. I remember once as Alan and I were euthanizing someone's beloved pet, the owner looked at me, tears glittering and said "It's one breath. I never realized how close life and death are... only a breath apart."
That has stayed with me.
Living is messy, hard, painful and it hurts. Death is simple, one last breath and all that is over, we are free.
I have seen too much of death not to know its signs. At times I hate that, seeing someone who is ill and knowing that the outcome may not be good.
The veil is thin at times between the two. At times it could go either way. I do believe in miracles. I do believe in an after life. But now, in the moment, it hurts so damn much.
I wonder how many more tears are left in me? Will the well ever run dry?
What will I do when I face my own death?
I want to spend 2011 living. I want to focus on life and its possibilities. I want to see friends more, connect more. I want to stop losing people, places and things.
I talked to my therapist about how much is going to change in the next year: our home, my job, my life, my marriage. I am moving into a new direction and while exciting it scares me. I want to stop time, sit in the now a little longer, breath a little easier, just for a while.
But it looks as though 2011 will not let me do that. Change is coming, things fall apart, the center cannot hold...
It is time to follow new paths, to say good bye, as much as it hurts. It is time to start over, start anew.
To embrace what comes, not forgetting the past or those who have gone before me, but to honor them by living the best I can, being the best I can and loving them until I see them again.
It ended on a sad note with the news that my dear friend Alan died at around 5 pm on New Year's Eve. Our mutual friend called in tears and said simply, "He's gone."
Death is simple, its the living on after the loss that is complicated and hard. I remember once as Alan and I were euthanizing someone's beloved pet, the owner looked at me, tears glittering and said "It's one breath. I never realized how close life and death are... only a breath apart."
That has stayed with me.
Living is messy, hard, painful and it hurts. Death is simple, one last breath and all that is over, we are free.
I have seen too much of death not to know its signs. At times I hate that, seeing someone who is ill and knowing that the outcome may not be good.
The veil is thin at times between the two. At times it could go either way. I do believe in miracles. I do believe in an after life. But now, in the moment, it hurts so damn much.
I wonder how many more tears are left in me? Will the well ever run dry?
What will I do when I face my own death?
I want to spend 2011 living. I want to focus on life and its possibilities. I want to see friends more, connect more. I want to stop losing people, places and things.
I talked to my therapist about how much is going to change in the next year: our home, my job, my life, my marriage. I am moving into a new direction and while exciting it scares me. I want to stop time, sit in the now a little longer, breath a little easier, just for a while.
But it looks as though 2011 will not let me do that. Change is coming, things fall apart, the center cannot hold...
It is time to follow new paths, to say good bye, as much as it hurts. It is time to start over, start anew.
To embrace what comes, not forgetting the past or those who have gone before me, but to honor them by living the best I can, being the best I can and loving them until I see them again.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Hold on
Hold on to what is good,
Even if it's a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe,
Even if it's a tree that stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do,
Even if it's a long way from here.
Hold on to your life,
Even if it's easier to let go.
Hold on to my hand,
Even if someday I'll be gone away from you.
A Pueblo Indian Prayer
I have been thinking a lot about holding on and letting go lately.
I have a friend who is ill, in critical condition, lost somewhere in a coma due to cancer. It has been over a week. The doctors have vacillated between hopeful and hopeless and left us all worrying and praying. I don't want my friend to die. He is young, only 44. Even though he is miles away, I feel him. His presence. His friendship. His goodness. I rant about the unfairness of his situation. He is a good person. He saves lives. He inspires others. Why him? Why now?
I spent the summer holding on tightly to my hubster who was also battling cancer. As well as my brother, cousin and aunt. I can unequivocally state that I HATE cancer. My husband survived. My aunt died. My friend, cousin and brother fight on...
The past two years have been the roughest ones I have lived through in a long, long time. The year I lost my daddy was hard, but I was 15 and resilient. The year my mama died was terrible, I was newly married, living in NYC, but I had the love of the hubster and ambition to carry me. Now I am older and it gets harder to let go.
In 2011 we have to let go of this house where we lived for 15 years. The bank has called our note. We, like many others, are victims of the recession. No, not victims, but something else. For I will not give up... but I will move on. I will survive this and start over.
But yes, we do have to let go of this house. Our first house we owned. A place where many have come and stayed. My friend in the coma lived here briefly after his divorce and then moved down the street and came often to hang out and do laundry.
This house has been filled with laughter and tears. I had dreams here. I had to let them go. I have stuff here that won't make it to the other place. I must let it go.
I must let go of so much: illusions, dreams, imaginings, things not yet born. I must let go and move on.
I am scared of the loss I will feel. I know that new experiences await me. But they are unfamiliar, unknown. I do not know what to do with the "stuff" we have collected. Bits and pieces of lives from other times and places. Do I keep my childhood toys? Do I keep the chair my 22 year old cat used to sleep in although he's been gone for over a year? Do I hold on to the "skinny clothes" or the "fat clothes"? What do I do with all these books? All these fears?
The hubster said he can't quite see us living in another space. He can't wrap his mind around what it will be like.
I can't either. Not yet. But I have begun to dream of a space that is peaceful and uncluttered. Orderly. Neat and cozy. Filled only with what we need and use. Not with years of baggage, emotional or physical.
Back to my friend. His life hangs in the balance right now. I pray constantly. Sometimes its just his name over and over. Sometimes I can feel his presence. Sometimes he seems more real to me in memories than the present moment does. So this is what I ponder. Do we ever really let go? Even if the physical state changes, even if loss occurs, do we still hold one another in some way, in some time, in some place that only our hearts and mind can see?
Even if it's a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe,
Even if it's a tree that stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do,
Even if it's a long way from here.
Hold on to your life,
Even if it's easier to let go.
Hold on to my hand,
Even if someday I'll be gone away from you.
A Pueblo Indian Prayer
I have been thinking a lot about holding on and letting go lately.
I have a friend who is ill, in critical condition, lost somewhere in a coma due to cancer. It has been over a week. The doctors have vacillated between hopeful and hopeless and left us all worrying and praying. I don't want my friend to die. He is young, only 44. Even though he is miles away, I feel him. His presence. His friendship. His goodness. I rant about the unfairness of his situation. He is a good person. He saves lives. He inspires others. Why him? Why now?
I spent the summer holding on tightly to my hubster who was also battling cancer. As well as my brother, cousin and aunt. I can unequivocally state that I HATE cancer. My husband survived. My aunt died. My friend, cousin and brother fight on...
The past two years have been the roughest ones I have lived through in a long, long time. The year I lost my daddy was hard, but I was 15 and resilient. The year my mama died was terrible, I was newly married, living in NYC, but I had the love of the hubster and ambition to carry me. Now I am older and it gets harder to let go.
In 2011 we have to let go of this house where we lived for 15 years. The bank has called our note. We, like many others, are victims of the recession. No, not victims, but something else. For I will not give up... but I will move on. I will survive this and start over.
But yes, we do have to let go of this house. Our first house we owned. A place where many have come and stayed. My friend in the coma lived here briefly after his divorce and then moved down the street and came often to hang out and do laundry.
This house has been filled with laughter and tears. I had dreams here. I had to let them go. I have stuff here that won't make it to the other place. I must let it go.
I must let go of so much: illusions, dreams, imaginings, things not yet born. I must let go and move on.
I am scared of the loss I will feel. I know that new experiences await me. But they are unfamiliar, unknown. I do not know what to do with the "stuff" we have collected. Bits and pieces of lives from other times and places. Do I keep my childhood toys? Do I keep the chair my 22 year old cat used to sleep in although he's been gone for over a year? Do I hold on to the "skinny clothes" or the "fat clothes"? What do I do with all these books? All these fears?
The hubster said he can't quite see us living in another space. He can't wrap his mind around what it will be like.
I can't either. Not yet. But I have begun to dream of a space that is peaceful and uncluttered. Orderly. Neat and cozy. Filled only with what we need and use. Not with years of baggage, emotional or physical.
Back to my friend. His life hangs in the balance right now. I pray constantly. Sometimes its just his name over and over. Sometimes I can feel his presence. Sometimes he seems more real to me in memories than the present moment does. So this is what I ponder. Do we ever really let go? Even if the physical state changes, even if loss occurs, do we still hold one another in some way, in some time, in some place that only our hearts and mind can see?
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Decisions...
We have started the house hunting. It is not easy...
I went alone without the hubster but with BB2 and Sister and her hubster. We looked at several houses but there was one little funky one, that I for some reason loved. It needed some work, not a lot but probably more than I could see through my smitten eyes. The colors were neutral, a lovely pale yellow, the kitchen large enough to eat in with RED counterops (which I love), old style cabinets, hard wood floors, a bath and 1/2 and an odd but large covered patio. There was a brick path laid the entire length of the yard and the carport had gothic niches w/ Saint Francis and another Saint standing guard. It was quirky and full of possibility. That is what I saw the possibility and what could be...
Today the fam and I took the husband by and... he hated it. He saw all the flaws none of the fantasy. It was a bit humbling and disappointing. Usually I pride myself on being practical, where will the litter box go? How can we make the rooms work? Will this be affordable? But I missed that the rooms were small, the yard was grassless and would take some work... Quirky became "too much fixing up".
We had looked at a house earlier that had be specifically tailored to the family living there. They obviously watch HGTV because it was lovely and decorated in a woodsy borders with bears, pine green and earth colors. But I saw no counter space, guests walking through the kitchen and dining area to reach the den which was long and narrow and very rectangular. The yard had a huge privacy fence enclosing an above ground pool. I hated it. And you guessed it, the hubster loved it. I couldn't get past the flow pattern and dark colors. And the pool. With the huge fence.
We did see a third house that had a front porch, with a swing and benches. It had a cage w/ 2 chickens and a rooster in the back yard. And a friendly cat locked in the laundry room. It had possibilities. A huge office off the laundry room and extra bath that could become "the master suite". It had cabinet space, It had a full bath down the hall, office space and dedicated space for a real live nothing but a guest room... Maggie the insane could be housed in a room of her own. The other cats and Jake could run the house. Jake had ample yard. Its really close to my job. Its a maybe. But of course there were some flaws. The heating system was old... and I hate furnace problems having been plagued with them the past two winters... other things needed updating, windows etc. The price was higher than I wanted...
I hope the family is patient and the hubster and I can agree... So we wait, we ponder, we pray.
I went alone without the hubster but with BB2 and Sister and her hubster. We looked at several houses but there was one little funky one, that I for some reason loved. It needed some work, not a lot but probably more than I could see through my smitten eyes. The colors were neutral, a lovely pale yellow, the kitchen large enough to eat in with RED counterops (which I love), old style cabinets, hard wood floors, a bath and 1/2 and an odd but large covered patio. There was a brick path laid the entire length of the yard and the carport had gothic niches w/ Saint Francis and another Saint standing guard. It was quirky and full of possibility. That is what I saw the possibility and what could be...
Today the fam and I took the husband by and... he hated it. He saw all the flaws none of the fantasy. It was a bit humbling and disappointing. Usually I pride myself on being practical, where will the litter box go? How can we make the rooms work? Will this be affordable? But I missed that the rooms were small, the yard was grassless and would take some work... Quirky became "too much fixing up".
We had looked at a house earlier that had be specifically tailored to the family living there. They obviously watch HGTV because it was lovely and decorated in a woodsy borders with bears, pine green and earth colors. But I saw no counter space, guests walking through the kitchen and dining area to reach the den which was long and narrow and very rectangular. The yard had a huge privacy fence enclosing an above ground pool. I hated it. And you guessed it, the hubster loved it. I couldn't get past the flow pattern and dark colors. And the pool. With the huge fence.
We did see a third house that had a front porch, with a swing and benches. It had a cage w/ 2 chickens and a rooster in the back yard. And a friendly cat locked in the laundry room. It had possibilities. A huge office off the laundry room and extra bath that could become "the master suite". It had cabinet space, It had a full bath down the hall, office space and dedicated space for a real live nothing but a guest room... Maggie the insane could be housed in a room of her own. The other cats and Jake could run the house. Jake had ample yard. Its really close to my job. Its a maybe. But of course there were some flaws. The heating system was old... and I hate furnace problems having been plagued with them the past two winters... other things needed updating, windows etc. The price was higher than I wanted...
I hope the family is patient and the hubster and I can agree... So we wait, we ponder, we pray.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Firsts
Tonight I watched Glee, my newest vice. Its about a bunch of high school kids in a glee club who sing and dance and basically are outcasts.
I watch it because its entertaining but also at times heartwrenching.
Is there ever a more difficult time in our lives than high school?
Those years shape us more than we would care to admit. It is the time we pass from childhood into the vast realm of adulthood. The first steps into our lives in the "real world". It is an emotional roller coaster.
It is the best of times and the worst of times. It is scary, exciting, fun and horrendous. Sometimes all in one day. It is where sometimes life long friendships begin and often first loves end.
It is a time of firsts. First kiss, first date, first car, first job, first time one starts to realize how really complex life can be...
There is a bittersweetness to all those firsts.
For some the firsts hurt and humilate. For others they become cherished memories. And others, regrets.
I remember feeling so deeply and intensely during my teen years. It seemed at times my skin could not hold all the wonder, awe and passion I felt for life. I felt on the cusp of something huge about to happen. I felt as if I would explode if I couldn't get words out. I wrote loads of very bad poetry. I dreamed, I listened to music. I discovered things, I learned about people. I was insatiably curious. I wanted to experience life.
I remember crushes on boys who are now grandfathers. I remember how sweet that first kiss was. How it was innocent and breathtaking and so very real. I remember the first time someone told me that he loved me. How thrilled and frightened I was. How I burst into tears and later how my mother held me and let me cry. I remember when he left. I wonder to this day where he is and how his life turned out.
I remember my first car, that first trip after I got my license, solo, with no adult in the car. I remember feeling free and immortal. I was flying out of the nest and I soared.
The firsts didn't end with high school, but they became fewer and far between as I grew up and older. At 50 its hard to be surprised. Its hard to find the joy of discovery when one has seen so much. The world is not as innocent as it once was. Kids now experience their first kiss way earlier than I did.
There are still firsts but they don't always come with joy. The first classmate to die. The first time you realize you can't go home again because the house you grew up in, is no more. Just a memory.
The first time you realize that you are the age your parents were when you were in high school.
The first time a classmate's child enters college...
I miss the teenage me. The girl who had wonder in her soul and longed for life to begin. Who had so many years and so many firsts stretching before her. I wish I could go back and tell her she was OK. That life would be OK even when it was hard and her dreams were dashed. I wish I could tell her that her heart would be broken, not once, but many times but she would survive. I wish I could tell her that love is not what she thought it would be. But love is something more than she could imagine.
I watch the shows about teenagers and I find myself longing just a bit to experience life again as an innocent. To go back and do over my mistakes. To undo the hurts, to ask for forgiveness, to say I love you before people faded from my life.
I can't say that I have no regrets. I do. But for the most part, I don't regret the firsts. I remember them all, some good, some bad. I remember the firsts because I grew from them and learned. And I mourn them because I will never, ever get to experience them again. Life takes a little of the magic with it as it rolls out. It can turn us bitter if we let it. Or it can leave us with lovely memories.
I think that for me, I shall strive to find some "firsts" that I may have missed. I think I shall try to recall that girl with the dreams and hopes in my heart and maybe fan her passion back to life.
I think I am ready for a new beginning. Somewhere, somehow. I am starting a new chapter. Perhaps the first of many...
I watch it because its entertaining but also at times heartwrenching.
Is there ever a more difficult time in our lives than high school?
Those years shape us more than we would care to admit. It is the time we pass from childhood into the vast realm of adulthood. The first steps into our lives in the "real world". It is an emotional roller coaster.
It is the best of times and the worst of times. It is scary, exciting, fun and horrendous. Sometimes all in one day. It is where sometimes life long friendships begin and often first loves end.
It is a time of firsts. First kiss, first date, first car, first job, first time one starts to realize how really complex life can be...
There is a bittersweetness to all those firsts.
For some the firsts hurt and humilate. For others they become cherished memories. And others, regrets.
I remember feeling so deeply and intensely during my teen years. It seemed at times my skin could not hold all the wonder, awe and passion I felt for life. I felt on the cusp of something huge about to happen. I felt as if I would explode if I couldn't get words out. I wrote loads of very bad poetry. I dreamed, I listened to music. I discovered things, I learned about people. I was insatiably curious. I wanted to experience life.
I remember crushes on boys who are now grandfathers. I remember how sweet that first kiss was. How it was innocent and breathtaking and so very real. I remember the first time someone told me that he loved me. How thrilled and frightened I was. How I burst into tears and later how my mother held me and let me cry. I remember when he left. I wonder to this day where he is and how his life turned out.
I remember my first car, that first trip after I got my license, solo, with no adult in the car. I remember feeling free and immortal. I was flying out of the nest and I soared.
The firsts didn't end with high school, but they became fewer and far between as I grew up and older. At 50 its hard to be surprised. Its hard to find the joy of discovery when one has seen so much. The world is not as innocent as it once was. Kids now experience their first kiss way earlier than I did.
There are still firsts but they don't always come with joy. The first classmate to die. The first time you realize you can't go home again because the house you grew up in, is no more. Just a memory.
The first time you realize that you are the age your parents were when you were in high school.
The first time a classmate's child enters college...
I miss the teenage me. The girl who had wonder in her soul and longed for life to begin. Who had so many years and so many firsts stretching before her. I wish I could go back and tell her she was OK. That life would be OK even when it was hard and her dreams were dashed. I wish I could tell her that her heart would be broken, not once, but many times but she would survive. I wish I could tell her that love is not what she thought it would be. But love is something more than she could imagine.
I watch the shows about teenagers and I find myself longing just a bit to experience life again as an innocent. To go back and do over my mistakes. To undo the hurts, to ask for forgiveness, to say I love you before people faded from my life.
I can't say that I have no regrets. I do. But for the most part, I don't regret the firsts. I remember them all, some good, some bad. I remember the firsts because I grew from them and learned. And I mourn them because I will never, ever get to experience them again. Life takes a little of the magic with it as it rolls out. It can turn us bitter if we let it. Or it can leave us with lovely memories.
I think that for me, I shall strive to find some "firsts" that I may have missed. I think I shall try to recall that girl with the dreams and hopes in my heart and maybe fan her passion back to life.
I think I am ready for a new beginning. Somewhere, somehow. I am starting a new chapter. Perhaps the first of many...
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Legacy and Love
This past week, my Aunt Catherine died. The Hubster has already written a beautiful post about my family. I don't know if I can express it any better than he already has.
However, it meant a trip to the farm. As I have grown older I have come to love that land more dearly than ever. KY is a beautiful state. There are lots of lovely woods, creeks, farms and fields. But something about the family farm is magic. It just feels different. When I turn off the highway onto the little road, images began rushing through my mind like an episodic movie.
I see black and white photos, color pictures, memories of times and people long gone. All rushing through but each one tangible and indelible. Each so real I ache with love.
I see in my mind the photographs of my siblings and me when we were all much younger: BB2 clutching a bunch of kittens to his chest; the sister and I standing in a field of tobacco that is 2 feet taller than us; the old house that Daddy built with a lavender bedroom. There is no longer a house or tobacco on the farm. There are however kittens.
BB1 has kittens who live outside working for their supper but also sleeping in the porch swing, running helter skelter down the road, hunting the fields for mice or lazing in the sun.
I imagine they are the descendants of the long ago cats clutched tightly by a small freckled faced boy who now lives a thousand miles away...
I didn't get a chance to walk in the woods this time. It would have been a good time as there was a full moon and it lit up the night so I could see individual trees and a path clearly. But this time wasn't about me. It was about family. The ties that link us, one severed for now upon this earth. My aunt Catherine was the last real link between what I think of as the past and the present. The past was when I was little, and on Sundays all the cousins came to visit. We would play all afternoon and into the late evening: school, church and funeral were my favorite games. Sometimes we would dress the smallest male cousins up as girls and force them to play house and be the "babies". We would play hide and seek, tell ghost stories until we scared ourselves silly and ran to the safety of our parents arms.
We would settle in sometimes and listen to the grownups talk. I remember the rich cadence of voices and laughter rising and falling, the curls of cigarette and cigar smoke wafting away on a breeze. The clink of ice cubes in glasses of tea so sweet your teeth ached. We would be given pieces of cornbread or cold biscuits to snack on. Later maybe some cold chicken or frozen mushmelons as makedo popsicles.
Some of this happened on another farm we lived on, some at THE farm: that's the one that calls to me, lures me back with the beauty of trees and fields. The farm that backs up to the cemetery where all my relatives sleep in quite peace. We could walk from my nephews house to the graveyard where we all gathered last weekend to pay our respects to aunt Catherine. You can see the treeline that marks the boundary from my parents grave.
At the cemetery we visit all the relatives, dusting off a headstone, straightening flowers, sticking wooden crosses back in the ground where the wind or maybe wild rabbits have knocked them over.
I pause at my parents' grave looking at the faded silk roses, knowing in my heart they were placed there on Memorial Day by Catherine's hands. She went out every year with armfuls of silk flowers, sticking single stems on the graves of her two babies that were born dead. She went from relative to relative, bending down at each grave, paying her respect, showing her love, caring for those gone ahead.
I wonder now, who of us will pick up this tradition? Who of us cousins, nephews, nieces, grandchildren or great grandchildren will be the bearers of the flowers? Who among us will go from grave to grave remembering the past? Some of whom we never met but who lived on in stories handed down at weddings, funerals, family gatherings.
I wonder about all of us who were children together, now growing older, some of us grandparents already, some of us even gone early. I wonder if we can carry on the legacy of love that was handed down to us. Can we make new ties linking the youngsters of today that will reach from them to us to our elders.
I wonder if that love will survive and thrive.
Later in the day I play with my great niece, the 5th generation to live on this land. I wonder if someday it will call to her as it does to me. If she will find fossils in the red clay as I once did. I wonder if she will love to walk the woods, hear the sighing wind and feel her heart swell with a love long imbued in the hills and hollows where so many of us began and later returned. I wonder if she will love the legacy as much as I do...
However, it meant a trip to the farm. As I have grown older I have come to love that land more dearly than ever. KY is a beautiful state. There are lots of lovely woods, creeks, farms and fields. But something about the family farm is magic. It just feels different. When I turn off the highway onto the little road, images began rushing through my mind like an episodic movie.
I see black and white photos, color pictures, memories of times and people long gone. All rushing through but each one tangible and indelible. Each so real I ache with love.
I see in my mind the photographs of my siblings and me when we were all much younger: BB2 clutching a bunch of kittens to his chest; the sister and I standing in a field of tobacco that is 2 feet taller than us; the old house that Daddy built with a lavender bedroom. There is no longer a house or tobacco on the farm. There are however kittens.
BB1 has kittens who live outside working for their supper but also sleeping in the porch swing, running helter skelter down the road, hunting the fields for mice or lazing in the sun.
I imagine they are the descendants of the long ago cats clutched tightly by a small freckled faced boy who now lives a thousand miles away...
I didn't get a chance to walk in the woods this time. It would have been a good time as there was a full moon and it lit up the night so I could see individual trees and a path clearly. But this time wasn't about me. It was about family. The ties that link us, one severed for now upon this earth. My aunt Catherine was the last real link between what I think of as the past and the present. The past was when I was little, and on Sundays all the cousins came to visit. We would play all afternoon and into the late evening: school, church and funeral were my favorite games. Sometimes we would dress the smallest male cousins up as girls and force them to play house and be the "babies". We would play hide and seek, tell ghost stories until we scared ourselves silly and ran to the safety of our parents arms.
We would settle in sometimes and listen to the grownups talk. I remember the rich cadence of voices and laughter rising and falling, the curls of cigarette and cigar smoke wafting away on a breeze. The clink of ice cubes in glasses of tea so sweet your teeth ached. We would be given pieces of cornbread or cold biscuits to snack on. Later maybe some cold chicken or frozen mushmelons as makedo popsicles.
Some of this happened on another farm we lived on, some at THE farm: that's the one that calls to me, lures me back with the beauty of trees and fields. The farm that backs up to the cemetery where all my relatives sleep in quite peace. We could walk from my nephews house to the graveyard where we all gathered last weekend to pay our respects to aunt Catherine. You can see the treeline that marks the boundary from my parents grave.
At the cemetery we visit all the relatives, dusting off a headstone, straightening flowers, sticking wooden crosses back in the ground where the wind or maybe wild rabbits have knocked them over.
I pause at my parents' grave looking at the faded silk roses, knowing in my heart they were placed there on Memorial Day by Catherine's hands. She went out every year with armfuls of silk flowers, sticking single stems on the graves of her two babies that were born dead. She went from relative to relative, bending down at each grave, paying her respect, showing her love, caring for those gone ahead.
I wonder now, who of us will pick up this tradition? Who of us cousins, nephews, nieces, grandchildren or great grandchildren will be the bearers of the flowers? Who among us will go from grave to grave remembering the past? Some of whom we never met but who lived on in stories handed down at weddings, funerals, family gatherings.
I wonder about all of us who were children together, now growing older, some of us grandparents already, some of us even gone early. I wonder if we can carry on the legacy of love that was handed down to us. Can we make new ties linking the youngsters of today that will reach from them to us to our elders.
I wonder if that love will survive and thrive.
Later in the day I play with my great niece, the 5th generation to live on this land. I wonder if someday it will call to her as it does to me. If she will find fossils in the red clay as I once did. I wonder if she will love to walk the woods, hear the sighing wind and feel her heart swell with a love long imbued in the hills and hollows where so many of us began and later returned. I wonder if she will love the legacy as much as I do...
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Its been a long time
Its been a rough summer. So much sorrow, worry and anxiety. Too many people in my life fighting for their lives.
But oh, have I learned. I have changed without realizing I was transforming. I am no longer the same person I was in April. Then I was burned out, stressed, overwhelmed with myself. But then on the horizon appeared a great looming shadow: CANCER.
Cancer was diagnosed in my husband, brother, aunt, cousin and a dear, dear friend within the same month Various forms, all Stage IV. Meaning it had metastasized to other parts of their bodies. Suddenly, I wasn't as important in my own mind. I shifted my ego out of the way realizing how precious life is, again. There is nothing that makes one so mindful of mortality as seeing a loved one facing Death. It becomes a daily presence always on the edge of one's vision, lurking in the room, waiting...
There were several times it came way too close. The hubster developed a pulmonary embolism, BB1 was rushed to the ER several times, my aunt lay in a nursing home with a broken arm, pneumonia...
I have seen Death before. I watched my father die in front of me. I had lost my mother while I was miles away and couldn't be by her side. I have had countless animals die in my arms as a veterinary assistant. I have been the one to speed the process by pushing the needle into the vein and releasing the overdose of barbituates to ease the animals from suffering to peace.
Death is no stranger, but still not a welcome friend...
I have found a new depth to my spirituality. I have had to let go of so many things, so much of myself. I never realized how prideful I was. How desperate I was to be the one who fixes everything and not accept help. In essence, I was a control freak. I had to let go of that. I had to accept my flawed ability to not be able to do it all alone. I had to come to grips with my overwhelming fear of poverty. I had no choice, I had to let go and let God.
God was/is everywhere. People came out of the woodwork to assist us. People who loved us with a depth that broke my heart time and time again. Everywhere I turned, I saw the Christ in action. Friends gave money, time, talent. They sent cards and called. They came and sat with me in the hospital, in my living room, in the hubster's hospital room. They cried with me and let me be angry, sad, broken. They held my hand in silence and hugged me until I stopped shaking. The doctors kept pushing to save my hubster, not giving up until they had the answer to why he was vomiting/fainting/short of breath. Countless times I felt the presence of something so much bigger than myself. I saw something in the eyes of friends, strangers, felt in their touch, heard it in their voice: I am not alone.
I don't know what to do with all the gratitude I feel. It is awesome to be the beneficiary of such unconditional love and mercy. I am humbled by it all. I want to spread it so others can feel the same love and mercy I have been given. But how? How can I repay what I have been given?
How can I pay it forward, spread it, let people know how vast the power of love really, truly is and that it exists? How can I ever describe what is in my heart? How can I show the world that aches and bleeds and cries and mourns that there is more, something true? How can I as one person accomplish what I want to do?
I don't know the answers. Yet. But I will be living my life differently, daily.
Thank you all for the blessings you have so freely given that I have so gratefully and undeservedly received.
Thank you.
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