On my fridge is one of my favorite things – a hand-made card from Tay. My own personal award of love from one of the coolest little chickies I know. I love her picture of me on the front.
What I love even more is what is inside:
The feeling this card gives me is the best thing ever.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face…
~Lord Byron
Reading this poem today, I was struck by how it seemed to be describing Desirae giving birth to Joshua. If I’d had a video recorder with me for Joshua’s birth I would have been tempted to post it here for all to see, such a thing of beauty it was. Rae has never been more beautiful than she is now and she was radiant during her birthing experience. Since her 9 year old daughter (who, along with Tam, had never witnessed the birth of a child) was to be present, she had determined to internalize her suffering as much as possible and was doubly determined to stay focused and “in the zone” during her labor. She was inspiring to watch as she controlled each stage of her labor. Joshua was born very quickly and with only a couple of small, mewing moans at the last. I was so impressed and inspired.
I realized that this same mind-set would serve me well. To determine to stay on track, focused and in the present moment. To wring from a day all of its life, beauty and dignity. To recognize the sacred in the day and to pour love into each action. To think more deeply about my impact on others than on my own pain.
Tam and I were honored to be with Rae during this wonderful moment in time. She is the most precious daughter and friend I could ever have hoped for. She and little Josh are doing very well and Josh’s three siblings are fast in love with him already. Peace to them and to all.
Just breathe!!!
cuttin’ the cord
how handsome is he?
love at first sight
big love from big sister
Desiree had her fourth (and last!) baby this morning. Joshua and mom are doing well. What a day!
The Fool recommended that I choose one thing from my little list of things I want to get back into doing…and just try to do that one thing. So I chose meditation, it being my strongest lifeline. Several days over the last week I’ve sat for 10 or 15 minutes. Not successfully, if having a peaceful mind is success. But I DID sit. So that is something.
My mind is just so scattered right now. I can’t seem to read much or write much or do much of anything except veg out in front of the tube. That isn’t like me. I’m usually only like that when I’m sick. I can’t help but think this is part of the grieving process. Another little gift from death that keeps on giving. I find it hard to care about things I normally care very much about. I feel listless, sluggish and endlessly sad. Even my miraculous and wonderful sex life has been altered. Tam and have gone from 5-6 fun times a week to 3-4. Like I told her, that makes us damn near normal. (Smile) Still, I know if it was left to me it would be even less. I just don’t have the energy for much of anything.
I want to get back to myself, but I don’t know the way. So, here I sit, waiting. Maybe if I could cry a bit more it would help. My beautiful picture of Dad and I that Tam framed for me still sits in the drawer, waiting for me to be able to bear looking at it. I think for a few moments about Dad, remembering, then my mind shuts the door with a firmness that lets me know I need to leave it alone for just a bit longer. It seems I can handle deep sadness only a little at a time.
So I wait. And wonder. Am I normal? Is this the way it’s supposed to go? Should I force myself to grieve more quickly, force myself to look at pictures and cry and such until I can’t bear it any longer? Or should I just wait and trust that this will work itself out in its own time and way?
Ah, Dad. I miss you so much. 
One of my sheros is my granddaughter Taylor. She is 9 years old, going on 100. No, I swear, she is one of those children of which one would remark, “She has an old soul”. I remember her as a baby having those wise eyes babies sometimes have, as if they haven’t yet forgotten the lessons of a past life.
This is why she is one of my sheros:
*She loves animals, all animals. I seem to be missing this gene. I kind of LIKE animals, but love them? Not really. This makes me feel like I’m lacking in love.
*She told me she wants to be a hippie when she grows up. How could I not love that? When I asked her what she meant, she replied, “You know Grandma, where I love people and animals instead of money and care about the earth and all that”.
*A couple of weeks ago she organized, on her own, a charity run for Cancer Research and the local Wildlife Org. She got a bunch of kids together at a local park, a few teachers and the Principal, organized the race, along with a homemade trophy for the winner, etc. She raised 60 dollars.
*Last week she went to the salon and had 12 inches cut off her hair for Locks of Love.
That is just a small example of why she is one of my sheros. Plus, she is funny as hell, smart as a whip, and real. I’ve never known anyone just like her. Not even two digits yet and already making the world a better place.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Cleaning out a desk drawer, came across an essay I wrote for Dad last year. Thought I’d post it for my sibs. In case any of you were wondering upon reading it if I thought my dad perfect, the answer is no. But his imperfections seem to dim as the years pass and I am able to see more clearly his love for us and his faithfulness as a father.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Father’s Chair
Today I heard a song on the radio entitled, “My Father’s Chair”. The first verse speaks of the writer’s sadness as a child when he looked at his absent father’s empty chair. This song touched me because my father also had a favorite chair. Unlike the chair in the song, however, his chair was not empty. My dad was there: ever present, constant and faithful.
As I’ve talked to friends about their fathers and read about the experiences of so many with their dads, I’ve been struck by how few knew the security and stability I enjoyed. Many are those who never knew their dads or were abandoned by them during their childhood. Those with a father present often bore an equally deficient past, suffering verbal or physical abuse or the tragic devastation of sexual abuse. Some served under military-type commanders who barked orders but withheld approval. Perhaps most common but no less crippling are the those who agonized over a father’s indifference.
Unlike the unfortunate majority, I was favored in childhood to have a dad who spent his time at home with his family. One who joined in on the mealtime conversations; one who hugged, patted and kissed his kids. My father didn’t do drugs, party or drink. He wasn’t a workaholic who spent most of his time away from us. He didn’t assault or rail against us.
Instead, he worked hard and sacrificed for years to provide for his large brood. He attended hundreds of sports events. He was constant, always there. He shared his values and demonstrated them as well. His opinions and thoughts were strong and he wasn’t afraid to have a passionate discussion or defend an unpopular view. And he loved to laugh! He became a skilled storyteller with wonderful comedic timing.
I have an exemplary father. His merits are increasingly disclosed to me with the passing of time. He sheltered his children, providing a loving, safe environment for them to grow up in. I dare to believe that I resemble him somewhat in nature, personality, temperament and character. I relish a good laugh and delight in telling tales. I hold strong opinions and am not afraid to have a passionate discourse on them. Most of all, I love to read. Reading is the primary passion of my life and I learned to treasure books at my father’s feet.
A few years ago I had a dream about my Dad’s mother. In the dream, my sister and I sat at her feet listening to her words of wisdom for us. She told us how proud she was of us as women, mothers and grandmothers. I awoke felling gloomy and melancholy, but as the day progressed I experienced a gradually unfolding revelation. I didn’t know if the dream came from heaven or my own mind, but I understood the wisdom of the message, I loved Grandma, not because she accomplished amazing feats or earned fame or fortune, but because of her tender affection for me that she transmitted through song, touch, food, games and so much more. And so it is with me. I saw that my loving care for my children and grandchildren has worth and value. If I never accomplish another thing in this life, I will have lived well by loving well.
So too, with my father. He has lived his life well because he has loved well. The Bible says that children are a gift from the Lord, a reward from Him. With 9 children, 18 grandchildren and 4 great-grandchildren, He is mightily blessed! I know that when he gets to heaven he will hear those wonderful words, “well done”, that he will receive the approval and applause of heaven. This is certain. Yet, I hope he realizes that he also has the approval and applause of his children. I trust he is aware of our admiration and gratitude. He truly is our beloved archetype and the champion of my heart for all time.
