Friday night brought the reality that we are again dancing with the cancer. As they pulled fluid off her lungs and warned her of the immediacy of the situation, I begin to feel that terrible weight. I pack it down, walk the dog, dress the children and just keep swimming … just keep swimming. Then came Saturday and his anticlimactic moving out, this man-child of mine now out on his own, soon to be a parent himself … gone. As I put our house to sleep, the silence hits me. I set to sobbing, letting go the hopes of a good night sleep. For three days now I have holed myself up, pulling these roughly woven blues tight about my little heart. Unlike the compilation of daily struggles that can get one “down,” those that hold the mere hint of depression, this that I feel demands a life of its’ own and it’s depressive power is great. This sadness is real and commands air to burn and burn it must. Thus, I pitch these fresh chips of my emotions into the inferno, my tears fuel the blaze and though I quake for need of escape and solace, I will tend this fire and let it be.
Unfortunately, life is a thing of risk, conception the biggest risk of all. Though I can no longer tuck him into the safety of my home, nor keep him in the steady gaze of my watchful eye, I must trust that the wings we have spent these last five years fashioning will hold and have within them the power to beat the wind into flight. Regardless, I mourn his absence. I acutely miss the sound of him in my home; the pulse of his gentle, loyal energy so familiar does not rise in the dawn of my house and this smarts. In short, I feel a greater vulnerability as if my forces have scattered, as if the front of my carefully constructed family lay defenseless. And were I not a woman of practicality I would grab it all back. I would insist that he return. I would retard the vision of our future to a stand still and furthermore, revert what might be back into what has been. However, I know change cares not for the whimsies of my heart. Thus, I do the only thing I can do, I cry.
Unfortunately, mortality doesn’t belong to the aged; it is that beautifully mysterious thing behind her smile, be she your daughter, your best friend or your sister. And even though you can accept this reality, even though you know in the very marrow of your being that her life will flow far beyond this moment, the panic finds you and pulls your sadness to the surface. There you sit shaking and sobbing, wanting to hold on to all of those things that are shifting from you into the swiftly churning currents of life uncharted and far beyond the four directions. I know that time will heal, that days will pile upon the other and that we will again be on solid ground, however I cannot deny these feelings coursing through me now. After all, I am no fire fighter, but the keeper of flame. Thus, I do the only thing I can do; I stoke the fire in front of me and welcome the combustion. Cases like these are not to be denied.
Fortunately, there are moments in our lives that become eternalized, living outside of time, blessed gems
that dare to shine. These seemingly infinite seconds are profound and inspire us with their intense hope. I wonder would they shine so without these quaking shifts that wreck us? These things of ultimate change hurt and though we set instinctively to run for dear life, maybe it is these very dealings that lend the luster to all that is good and pleasant in our lives. Thus, I sit by my little fire and allow my tears to collect about me, in my clothes, in the hair of my lap-bound babies, in the air and ether and I allow the sorrow within me to be a powerful hallowed companion. Onto these flames I drop a bit of course tobacco in gratitude, for to feel great pain means I have the capacity to feel great joy. And though I look to happier days, I appreciate these struggles that so define me … I honor this time of fire keeping.
