Childhood summer
"Acting out these fairy tales, running and jumping in the waves. I miss innocence, I miss the arms of my mother. I miss feeling light, like a childhood summer." - Sara Groves, Childhood Summer
It's been one of those days when you wake up at 7:30 to the whir of the ceiling fan, revel in your cool sheets and pillows, feeling well rested for the first time in a while. It's your first day off of a long weekend, your spouse is working and the world might be your oyster. But in spite of it all, you can feel that heavy cloud rolling in - you know, the one you've been avoiding.
By 9 o clock you are an emotional wreck. The tears do not stop. The pain of loss is overwhelming again. You're not sure where this all came from. All you know is you cannot stop missing your child. It's all so real, so in your face. They are not coming back. How did this happen?
You shower and get ready to go visit your mother like you planned the day before. You stop to check the mirror before you leave. You notice your eyes are puffy; it looks like you haven't slept in weeks. This happened so fast.
You try to give your mother an enjoyable day, you ooh and aah at her vegetable garden victories, you go to lunch, you take her to the community gardens and give her a good laugh about a story you heard at work. All the while inside you wonder when you can tell her that you're emptier than you have been in weeks.
My mind plays tricks on me. It makes me think I've been amazing for months but it's only been weeks. I'm left wondering what happened. What happened is it was an illusion.
When Mom and I walked through the gardens, we hit a certain path that had tall grasses blowing in the breeze and high bushes of daisies and butterfly bushes. You could only see around the bend, the rest was a beautiful mystery. We talked about how this was a "magical moment" like when I was a kid and we skipped through it. Mom got stuck behind me, so captured by the grasses that she had to stop and stare.
You can't help wishing to go back to the days when you thought the world really was your oyster and you had no idea what it felt like to have your heart ripped out of your chest and stomped on. Don't we all. I think that's part of the grief. You can't go back there.
Even I could, I wouldn't know what to tell my childhood self. How do you prepare her for this? Where do you begin?
I guess I would just hug her and say that her romantic heart might appear weak... but it turns out to be stronger than ever thought.
It's no good to miss those days now. They laid the foundation for surviving today and they were never meant to be permanent.
The human heart is profound, deep and strong, and so much more than meets the eye. Sometimes it's bigger and needier than a perfect morning when everything seems glorious. Bigger than how it all seems, bigger than my intellectualizing, bigger than concrete evidence or all my best laid plans. It needs to call a time out and fall apart all over again. Drop the expectations, it tells me. Take one day at a time. Be here now. I feel like if I could accept this, truly accept this, about myself, I could love with peace.
It's been one of those days when you wake up at 7:30 to the whir of the ceiling fan, revel in your cool sheets and pillows, feeling well rested for the first time in a while. It's your first day off of a long weekend, your spouse is working and the world might be your oyster. But in spite of it all, you can feel that heavy cloud rolling in - you know, the one you've been avoiding.
By 9 o clock you are an emotional wreck. The tears do not stop. The pain of loss is overwhelming again. You're not sure where this all came from. All you know is you cannot stop missing your child. It's all so real, so in your face. They are not coming back. How did this happen?
You shower and get ready to go visit your mother like you planned the day before. You stop to check the mirror before you leave. You notice your eyes are puffy; it looks like you haven't slept in weeks. This happened so fast.
You try to give your mother an enjoyable day, you ooh and aah at her vegetable garden victories, you go to lunch, you take her to the community gardens and give her a good laugh about a story you heard at work. All the while inside you wonder when you can tell her that you're emptier than you have been in weeks.
My mind plays tricks on me. It makes me think I've been amazing for months but it's only been weeks. I'm left wondering what happened. What happened is it was an illusion.
When Mom and I walked through the gardens, we hit a certain path that had tall grasses blowing in the breeze and high bushes of daisies and butterfly bushes. You could only see around the bend, the rest was a beautiful mystery. We talked about how this was a "magical moment" like when I was a kid and we skipped through it. Mom got stuck behind me, so captured by the grasses that she had to stop and stare.
You can't help wishing to go back to the days when you thought the world really was your oyster and you had no idea what it felt like to have your heart ripped out of your chest and stomped on. Don't we all. I think that's part of the grief. You can't go back there.
Even I could, I wouldn't know what to tell my childhood self. How do you prepare her for this? Where do you begin?
I guess I would just hug her and say that her romantic heart might appear weak... but it turns out to be stronger than ever thought.
It's no good to miss those days now. They laid the foundation for surviving today and they were never meant to be permanent.
The human heart is profound, deep and strong, and so much more than meets the eye. Sometimes it's bigger and needier than a perfect morning when everything seems glorious. Bigger than how it all seems, bigger than my intellectualizing, bigger than concrete evidence or all my best laid plans. It needs to call a time out and fall apart all over again. Drop the expectations, it tells me. Take one day at a time. Be here now. I feel like if I could accept this, truly accept this, about myself, I could love with peace.
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