lost and found

When I told Annie that I had lost my patience tonight, she promptly replied in a very serious tone:

"Can I help you find it?" 

"Where did you last have it?"

In the sternest voice I could muster between stifling giggles, I said: 

"I am pretty sure I know where it is.." 

They sat in the back

The infrequent morbid blogger has a post.

About death.

Again.

Well, about life.

But prompted by a death.

Again.

Another patient.

This time it was the funeral.

I "squeezed" it into my schedule today.

In between my other patients.

Who are alive.

For now.

A long life lived.

Taken away from many friends and enormous amounts of family.

Grandchildren galore, children abound.

Nieces and nephews.

Great-grandchildren.

The pews were full.

Siblings.

Two of them.

Sat in back.

Of all the others.

Should they be up front?

Should they mourn the most?

Rare to see siblings alive at this age.

They know more.

I thought.

They are the family.

I know.

The ones who were there first.

I cried.

The ones who hurt the most.

Too many times a day goes by.

A week.

Or two.

Who have I talked to today.

Sometimes it is 3 or 4.

Sometimes it is none.

Rarely.

But sometimes.

The past will always bind us together.

While the present keeps us apart.

Physically.

But not emotionally.

Or spiritually.

That can not be changed.

By pews in the church.

Or death.

when the day is done

 

 

musings from a day well done-

buyer beware:

the pictures have nothing to do with the words...

and the words have nothing to do with anything...

 

 



today I asked my one and only why I was so lucky to have such a great kid...

she said it was beacuse her kid has a great mom...

well done...

 

I still hate my "barefoot" running sneakers. I'll be a cripple before caramel apple season if I continue to use them.

Just sayin'

 

speaking of caramel apple season, I have come to terms with my severe sugar addiction-

don't know what I am going to do about it- but at least we're on good terms.

oy.

 

 I used to wonder a lot more than I do now.

Wonder and question.

Now I try more to listen.

what?

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

I think I am a cat person.

Don't tell my dogs.

 

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000

 

Italics are annoying. So are rising gas prices.

 

 

is it bad that my one and only yelled out

"real housewives of nyc"

while playing tv tag???

she's 8.

 

and while we're at it-

her feet are bigger than mine.

wahhhhhhhh!!

 

_____________________________________________________ 

 

 

tis the season for some significant dates.

terror-joy-births-

how blessed are we to remember, celebrate...

the alternative is well, grim.

 

***************************************************

 

 

crickets are cool.

they sing my favorite lullabys-

g'nite

 

 

 



Nine Invisible Months

Did I ever tell you my due date was supposed to be September 8th? I said "I think it will be the 10th" Eric said "Ok. That's your guess."

I laughed. "No, let me change it after a few appointments."

Silly me.

There were no appointments.

(from a journal entry to myself - 3/15/12)

I need to write this post. 
I need to write this post because today is the day I was supposed to become a mother.  

Instead, I cried. 
I have cried a lot the past months. As I have mourned the loss of life inside me and the milestones of a pregnancy that was never really mine. 

I cried for a baby that never got to be and I cried for the mother I am not. 

We planted a tree because I need this day to be about life, not death. About growing, and not disappearing. 

It rained as we dug the hole and it rained as we placed her in it. It rained as I took a family picture and it rained as I stood there crying. Looking at this tree that is, for many reasons beautiful, I thought she looked lonely. I cried about that, too. But, now she is here, and I can take care of her.

And before I left her, out there in the dark, I said to her "I hope you like it here." 

Her leaves made a heart against the dark stormy sky.

 I think that was her answer. 

They Must Be Cousins

It seems impossible to have a family refuge that allows me to truly enjoy life at a slower pace.

We come to The Island for a great salty-air sleep, a hearty meal (undoubtedly cooked on the grill), an occasional PortMac, and a healthy spritz of salt water from the shallows beneath the trusty alumacraft.

We come for laughter, for sandy sheets and for the irreplaceable sandy soap in the outdoor shower.
We travel great distances for that outdoor shower.

Long ago, we came to The Island to reunite with siblings and parents.  We came to make good money.  To make good money doing mindless work really: washing dishes, bagging groceries, stocking shelves, slinging donuts, rigging sailboats....

We came to laugh at the tourists - especially those on mopeds. And we laughed at the tourists who wore neon.  And nevermind the tourists who combined both activities.

For a while, we believed that after a few good hurricanes weathered on these shores, we could call ourselves natives.  Now that we're older, we've learned that the natives might not be the best crowd to run with on this Island.

For now, we'll just run with family.

For me, and for you - we came to connect: with the natural beauty that surrounds, with siblings who'd moved off to a new stage in life, with children who were growing up WAY to fast.  We came to connect with our deepest thoughts that always get lost in the gentle roar that is our  daily life on the mainland.

We now come to The Island  to watch the next generation discover that under Papa and Granny's roof, the terms cousin and friend are synonymous.  We come to have them learn that Aunts can be magical, crazy, a fountain of fun and that Uncles can be unpredictable, have endless games up their sleeves and seemingly boundless energy.  We come to The Island and our sense of "extended family" is quickly defined.

And we love it's definition.  And we want it to extend it even further.

This is why I felt more than moved today when I sat on the wooden bench nearest the ferry slip in Vineyard Haven and listened to Nonie describe every coupling of birds as "cousins".  Mom, look at those two - they must be cousins.

Even if they weren't the same breed, even if they looked nothing alike - she'd see two birds enjoying the same sandy beach, or same weathered railing, or same swaying row boat and she'd declare them cousins.

For a moment I am reminded of the time she asked if Aunt Lily was Mary Poppins.  Lils, can you fly?

.....Ms. Nonie has a tendency to be right....perhaps those birds are cousins.

While the avian cousins flew in every direction above VH harbor this glorious afternoon, I was reminded of how grateful I am for the opportunity to come to this place to let the sand rush in....

With my deep, deep appreciation to Granny & Papa, and to all the cousins, siblings and outlaws, for bringing their own magic to these sandy shores.

You are not rudderless

To a friend:

###

If I've calculated correctly - you're due to deliver Baby Girl # 4 pretty soon.

I hope that this nearing-the-end......approaching-the-beginning time is relaxing and has you counting your blessings.

I'm thinking that it probably has you wishing your Mom were here to meet Baby Girl #4.  I'm certain I'd be wishing the same thing.

But, perhaps they've already met?  God does works in funny ways.  And by funny, I mean mysterious, powerful, mind-boggling... but you know what I mean.

Your newest little lady - I think she'll be a Princess of Peace.

Many positive thoughts to you and yours as you embark on this expansion of family and as you morn the loss of the one who guided your journey until now. 

Through the three lassies dancing around your legs and the one in your belly your Mother is still guiding you.  Steering you.

You, my dear friend, continue to be a beautiful and inspiring Mother due in large part to the fact that you learned from The Best of the best.

Your Mother is with you.  Today tomorrow and forever, you are not rudderless.

When I Am With You.

Our sneakers kick up the dry sand, as the sweat falls down our faces.
We are on our second run of the weekend and it feels like we
are doing what we should be doing.  At least to me it does.

We take it slow, a step at a time.  Not much more than that -
and certainly nothing less.  We're runners after all.  Aren't we?

We talk a bit.  Too much for you, but not nearly enough for me.
Together we cover the essentials and then, to distract ourselves from the heat, we chat
about a whole layer of fluffy stuff.

Mostly, my feet shuffle along and I'm enjoying being with you.
Running by your side
and I am with you.

Trailing behind
and I am with you.

Handing you the water bottle
and I am with you.

We take it slow, a step at a time allows us the chance to lift
our heads and enjoy where we are heading.
On occasion, but not too often,
we gaze back at where we've come from.

While our talking brings comfort, it is the silence that brings us even more.
The shuffling of our feet and the deep breathing from our souls provide the backdrop for what I enjoy the most of all... the passing of this time.  With you.

***


On this day, during this beautiful run with you, my thoughts shift to Uncle Vince.
How could he be gone?


How Can I Be Saying Goodbye to Uncle Vince, When I Feel Like I Just Met Him?

Into the depths of my throat I can feel the pain well from the inside.  It is that
burning pain deep in my throat that triggers the tears from the bottom corners of my eyes.
Here they come again.
Warm teardrops fill my eyes and fall to the sand as I run.

My feet swish rhythmically in the sand below.  My nose begins to drip.

You don't see any of this because it is far too hot outside
and we really shouldn't be running at this hour of the day anyway, and you're in front of me powering through it all... and because of all this,
I have the privacy I need to
say over and over and over in my mind:

Dear Vince, I discovered you too late.  

It is my Uncle Vince who reminded me just last week - days before he succumbed to cancer,
that he was taking each day - day by day, and that each day was a gift.

Perhaps, the most simplest of all life's lessons.

Was it not just yesterday that the kids and I hunkered down in our cozy bed on a "snow day" to chat with Uncle Vince on the phone and to spend hours coloring pictures to send to him to cheer him up? How could he possibly be gone?

Wasn't it just yesterday that he reminded me that "everyone needs a ' My Uncle Vinnie'."  (Just like the movie, My Cousin Vinnie ....



Tonight I sit alone thinking that everyone just might need a My Uncle Vinnie,
who is with them.

***

I soon shift out of my solemn thoughts to take note of the passing
driveways, songbirds, and occasional landscaping trucks.

With a sweep of my arm, I wipe my nose and my tears.

You run silently in front.  Once again and always my leader.

We are more than half way to the south shore.
We are doing it.
We are running
and I am with you.

Our sneakers kick up the dry, soft sand and the salty, saturated sweat falls down from our brows.
To replace the tears perhaps?
Even if for a few moments.

I breathe in the heavy sea air, the waves crash in the distance, and I find comfort in realizing that

these are the days my Uncle Vince spoke about.

These are the days that are the gifts to be treasured.

The gifts I enjoy the most of all, when I am with you....

and you

and you...

and you, beautiful...

and of course, you guys too.