Another Layer

It has been some time since I've written a new entry of joy.  As always, there have been plenty of joyful moments and a desire to write, but there have also been many demanding tasks and not enough hours of sleep.

As many of you know, I returned home a few days ago from a lovely visit with Lizzy and her three little ones at their home in Florida.  I treasured feeling surrounded with love every minute of my visit.  There was always a darling face and a set of soft cheeks to kiss easily within my reach.  When I snuggle the soft, warm heads, I feel my soul fill up with a wonderful glow that fills in all my empty spaces.  I loved every minute of romping in the surf of a beautiful white sand beach with Anny and Merrylee, twirling and playing "Ring around the rosy" until I was too dizzy to stand.  I loved playing games, reading dozens of story books, making Easter crafts, and spoiling the girls on a shopping trip.  I sparkled as I cuddled Baby Benjamin and delighted in his big smiles and baby talk.  

I loved it all, but there was an even deeper layer of fulfillment.  I watched in proud and profound completion, the magnificent character of my daughter.  She has grown to make my dreams for her come to their full potential.  I am so proud of her strength.  It is not easy to care for three little ones all day every day while her husband is away on military deployment.  Her job never has a break.  Through all of that exhaustion and loneliness, I see her standing like a rock.  Her faith is strong and is an example to all who know her.  I heard some of her friends talking about how their family lives are better because they have followed Lizzy's example of faith and devotion to raising her family immersed in the daily routines of prayer and scripture study.  Her children are sweet and confident and secure.  They are growing and thriving in their spiritual and academic development.  They are happy and well adjusted.

It all requires great effort, but I see Liz doing all of the things I have wished for her, and I see the blessings in her life and the lives of her children.  Watching her family life feels like a bountiful harvest for me.  The fruits of my labors in her childhood are coming to their maturity in a very pure and beautiful way.  It is another layer to my joy that I don't think I could ever have anticipated.  I'm confident that my life's work will not end with me.  What is dear and precious to me lives on through my daughters and sons and their daughters and sons, and so on forever.  It makes all of those midnight feedings and taunts from fellow grad students as I tried to haul my pregnant self into a desk seem very indifferent now.  My early days of motherhood were rich with blessings two or three decades ago, but they are exponentially sweeter now.    

A Quarter of a Century, and I Remember it All

Time is a great healer.  Memories that were hard soften to reflections on blessings received and lessons learned.  Perhaps that is how old people become as wise as they are. 

This afternoon I drove Peter to the hospital to visit a young friend.  I had an hour or so to wait, so I went to a family waiting room on the pediatrics floor, and I was not prepared for what I would see.  Or maybe I was.  Four mothers of patients were there, surrounded by family and friends.  Some were obviously suffering as their tears and anguish were evident.  After awhile, I couldn't stand to watch it anymore, and I moved to another lobby. 

The thought came to mind that I personally understood the feelings of those mothers.  I have sat in that very hospital in a state of shock and sorrow and worry as my four week old daughter suddenly was in critical care with no major organ systems functioning on their own.  I felt the disconnect, the out of body sensation when reality becomes too overwhelming to process.  I felt the gripping fear when I dared to think about what could happen and how I would deal with it.  I felt the exhaustion and the worry about my two other little ones back at home.  I struggled to understand the medical terms and processes and procedures.  It was a swirling sea of anguish that I wished I could have avoided.

I remembered it all today, but what I didn't think of until our drive home was that today is the very anniversary of that scary day back in 1987.  It has been 25 years.  That baby girl is now a mother.  While I can still recall the horror, much of it has softened to peaceful gratitude.  Many people came to our aid back then.  While expert physicians worked day and night to save our baby, our friends and family cared for our little girls and our home.  They prayed for us and visited us with hugs and encouragement.  They held me when the tears came weeks and months, and even years after the crisis was over. 

A quarter century has come and gone since then.  There are life events that I can't say I am grateful to have experienced, but I am profoundly grateful for the lessons I have learned.  Maybe I'll become a wise old lady some day.  I hope so, at least the wise part.

The Hands of Girlfriends

I've written before about how I enjoy our weekly music group at an assisted living facility in our neighborhood.  Today while we were singing patriotic songs for Veterans' Day, I saw a sweet scene on the front row.  Two ladies were holding hands.  One was definitely stronger and more alert than the other, and she was sharing her strength with her neighbor.  Both were benefitting from the gesture.  

Afterward, I reflected on what I had noticed and thought about how women need each other.  Not to diminish our love for men, we adore them, but this kind of sister love is different.  I have marveled as I have read about childbirth in early America.  Just before the births, the midwife called in about six additional women to assist with the delivery.  These family members and neighbors would hold and support the new mother's shoulders, back, and limbs.  Their combined strength was the only pain relief available for the laboring mother.  It must have helped, as this technique of support and encouragement was practiced for more than a century.

There have been many times in my own life where I have sought and found help from the women I love.  My children have made the comment, "Mom, you surround yourself with strong women."  Well, there is a reason for that.  I love them and admire them, and I need them.  The bonds of sisterhood are precious to me.  I smile whenever I see a pair of girls walking down the street chatting and giggling together.  My heart warms when I see a pair of wrinkled hands offering support and comfort to another pair of wrinkled hands.  We figure this out as little girls, and we draw upon this knowledge throughout our lives.  Women need each other.  Life is richer when we girls have girlfriends.

PS.  I think there are four boys on my mailing list - my husband, our two sons, and my dad.  Just to set the record straight, I need you guys, too.  You make my life complete, but I probably won't call on you when I need help choosing my clothes or when I need to sit and cry for a spell.  Fortunately for you, I'll be in good hands for those times. 

A Sweater and a Happy Halloween

Another Halloween has come and gone.  It was fun to see the kids come onto our porch and gaze in wonder at our blinking, moving, music playing decorations of a ghost mine and a ghouls' ball.  They're just little mechanical table decorations, but every kid lingered on the porch to look at them and exclaim how cool they are.  It was also fun to see that Halloween is a custom that has spread to so many other nationalities that have moved to No.Va.  I think only one trick-or treater that visited us was a garden variety white kid.  The rest were Asian, Middle Eastern, Polynesian, Hispanic, and who knows what else.  It's very cosmopolitan here, and I love it.  One thing was evident tonight. Kids from all over the world love candy (and noisy flashing lights.)

    I mentioned a sweater in my subject line.  That was what gave me even more joy today.  You may have read my last post about my sadness at the death of my friend, Bonnie.  Well, nearly a year ago, Bonnie and I were shopping at Eddie Bauer, and I admired a sweater but thought it was too expensive to buy.  We left the store, and a couple of days later, Bonnie called me to say that she was back at E.B., and that the sweater was 40% off, plus she had a further discount coupon, and wouldn't I like it if she picked one up for me.  I said, "Great.  Just buy the size that fits you, and it will fit me."  The next day she showed up at the pool with 2 identical sweaters in 2 different sizes.  She couldn't decide which fit better, so she bought them both and offered to return the one that I didn't want.  And that's exactly what she did.  I love the sweater.  I wore it all last winter, and I unpacked it and was very happy to wear it today.  It's soft and warm and felt like a hug from Bonnie.  I confess that I even kissed it before it put it on this morning.  I never dreamed last fall that before my new sweater was a year old, that my friend would die.

    Thanks for letting me muse on this a little.  It helps me to write my thoughts.  Who knew that an EB sweater could be so dear and so comforting?  Cherish the folks you love.  Learn to make new friends and love them, too.  Never supress an urge to do a kindness - like calling a friend to tell her that her sweater is on sale and that you'll pick it up for her. 

Gains and Losses

written on Tuesday, October 27, 2011

These days of economic downturn have us all talking about gains and losses - mostly losses in the stock market, low interest rates, and high unemployment.  These are often devastating losses, but that is not what is on my mind today.  Today a dear friend passed away after a battle with cancer.  It was cancer that doctors should have seen during repeated annual screenings.  But they didn't, and tragedy struck.

This is the first time that a friend younger than I has preceeded me in death.  I feel very sad, stung, numb, teary, and I admit, a little angry all at once.  What I don't feel is loss.  I never like to hear the well intended phrase, "I'm sorry for your loss."  Be sorry for my separation and my grief, but it is not a loss.  My friend is still my friend.  I am sorry that we have had a parting so soon.  In fact, that causes me an outpouring of grief, but we have not parted forever.  Bonnie has gone to a place where I can't see her or hear her or hug her, and that hurts, but she is not lost.  This parting is temporary.

I won't speak of Bonnie in the past tense.  I don't like to hear that she "was a great person."  She is a great person.  All that I love about her is still with her.  She's still friendly and cheerful and chatty.  She's still funny and attentive.  What is in the past is her illness and pain.  Those are gone, never to return again.

So why do I write about this in my efforts to describe joy?  Today is a hard day.  I don't like good-byes, and this one is especially tough, but it's not about loss.  It's about gain.  When I gained Bonnie as a friend, it was forever, not just for the three-plus years that we swam together three times each week.  Not just for the times we chatted at Starbucks and combed the sales at Eddie Bauer.  Our friendship was a gain that will stay with us forever.  When Jesus Christ arose from the tomb, believers and non-believers were all given a gift.  It is the sure promise that life does not end with the grave.  We will part, but we will see eachother again, and every good thing will be retained.  I know this truth for certain, and that brings me comfort and hope amidst the tears.  My gratitude for this gift of life is a source of joy, even on a day like today.