The hours, days, and weeks following our discharge from the hospital and Noah’s arrival on this side of life, have been a kaleidoscope of emotions and will. Our previous daily routine pared down to the bare minimum, a merry-go-round of feed the baby, feed ourselves, change the baby, sleep (in fits and starts), feed the baby again, feed ourselves, try to sneak in a shower, sleep again, etc.
In spite of appearances, this is not a rant against science or western medicine, or the mommy blogs trying to convince us there’s one right way to do (pick a topic). I guess it’s just my way of trying to infuse a little grace and reality into the conversation.
Hello. I’ve missed you. It is Spring here, cool mornings and nights with bright, afternoon sun. What is blooming in your life? Here are a few updates on mine.
I know that we’ve never really had life without risk. It was always there. It will always be there. It is part of what makes life good and sweet and worth living.
What I didn’t know was how much a heart can open in the midst of grief and fear. I didn’t know that no matter how hard I tried to anticipate these moments, nothing could prepare me for the outpouring of love we’ve received. I had no idea gratitude and grief were such close companions.
Bone of your bone,
flesh of your
flesh.
I rise
from the ashes
of your strife.
Perhaps I am thinking of my ancestors because we are in tumult. Individually, collectively, human-ly. I want to know what they survived and how because they did.
Do not fear the shadow side of the moon,
the double edged sword
you carry in your hand.
Feel, and never look back.
Err, and do not retrace those steps.
Stumble, and bear your scars with pride.
“I want to know my death
makes me no less part of the tree.
That dying can be as triumphant as tragic.
I want to know that the hope of rebirth
is just a season away.”
There were people(s) who knew intimately the spirit of the land because it was inside them. They were not separate from the beauty or terror of nature but revered it. Their stories have been rewritten, if not entirely erased but there are vestiges left behind. They are still with us. It is not yet too late.