ready to say goodbye, 2013

Death came in waves. Small, but relentless.

My grandpa died, in a few months it will be a year. He was so old, I was unsure what kind of hole might be left by his absence. There is a helpless space before we eat dinner. The time when we prayed. It was his time, and now we just stand there, choked. My aunt steps in at Thanksgiving, she says his blessing. And I get a huge lump in my throat. I hold Elwood close and breathe into the side of his sweet baby head. I take comfort, thinking how pleased my grandpa would have been with what a Fine Boy Elwood is. "Such a Fine Boy." He would have said that.

A little girl from my street died this year. And it's not my story to tell, but I stare at the house of her mom and dad every day and I'm afraid of how sad and scared I am. I don't know how to go on with So Much Sadness and Change All Around me.

Our dog died a few weeks ago. I could write a whole book about what happened in my heart that week when we let go of her.

Death is a thing that has been swirling around me. Not taking out any of my key players, but touching in a medium sized circle around me.

This year, I read furiously. I read the new testament, native american history, syliva plath, the battle of gettysburg, and on and on and on. And had Big Thoughts. And things just got Bigger and Bigger for me, until CRASH.

I had my first Zen interview this year. My question was essentially, how can I go on knowing there is an end? I think the answer might have something to do with a little pebble rolling between two hands. My teacher would think that was nuts, probably. But I don't remember her answer, I remember what she did with her hands when answering. And that became the answer for me. I love her face and her loud laugh. Like a bell that shakes you.

Today is January 6th and I'm just now starting to ease my fingers away from 2013. I have nothing to arm me in the next year. No new practice, no special word, no resolution. Just a sore heart and my breath. Again and again.

the three people you meet in heaven

life plan

mini-rose august 2013

having the realization
that you can quit
being a scared twelve year old any time now.

this happens the day you turn thirty
and you remember this for ten years,
you talk about it a lot.

and then when you are forty
you
wake
up.

one year of loving Elwood

I've always had trouble writing about him, since the very beginning. With Ramona my love creates words, it creates stories. With Elwood my love creates silence. I think maybe it's because of my weak skills as a descriptive writer. When I think of him I think of the way things feel. Soft skin, the way it felt to kiss his nose above his binky, petting a closed eye with my thumb. With him there was no story, just me quietly feeling the way I feel. Just enjoying him. 

I always try to explain to people how he is a wonder of nature to me. Like a little fluff from a dandelion. This never makes sense, exactly.

But there are stories I can tell.

I didn’t get to hold him at first, the night he was born. The night he was born I had to wait. There was something they had to take care of, they would have to whisk him away for a second before I could hold him they warned me. I had to wait, and I held my breath and I tried to fill myself with patience. To be a good patient for Elwood on the night when he was born.

The night he was born I kept our news to myself. Waiting for day to announce the arrival of our sweet boy. I sent a picture to my waiting family. The hour still so small that it was hard to see him in his little bed. Something about this picture is magic to me. 

first picture

I didn’t let go of him the whole day. Our room was full of sunshine and I held him and loved him. He was the perfect baby. 

We named him Elwood Emory. A poet’s name. It is the most beautiful name I can think of for a boy.

I doubt I ever put him down. I nursed him and kissed him. I think it was my happiest day. 

When I think of Elwood as a very small baby, I think of his eyes closed tight. I think of my fingers running over his little face. I think of how he seemed to be so aware of me.

He slept against me in bed for the first few months, and I should be sad maybe, because I know I will never be as happy as I was in those very restful nights. I mothered him like a person who has never worried about anything in her life. I mothered him like the person I never knew I could be. Somehow this is still true. It is hard to feel anything but pleasure when I look at him still.

Elwood has been a salve on my heart. It is not necessary to wring the joy out of every moment. It is not necessary to be happy all the time. It is not necessary to feel any certain way about anything. It is not necessary to enjoy any moment more than the other. Once he was born I fell silent. I am not sure why. 

Is this sweet boy the fast track to enlightenment? Maybe. Maybe loving anyone is the fast track to enlightenment. 

I was made to wait the morning he was born. I was made to sit quiet, be patient, stay out of the way. 

I am still doing this.

Happy Birthday, sweet Elwood. You blond headed, sweet hearted, blue eyed boy. You are the peace of my heart. 

Elwood Emory Bradfield

To Ramona, on her fourth birthday

Dear Ramona,

Today is your fourth birthday. This morning you stood on a chair and shouted, "I am four! I'm not nearly four, I'm not three. I'm four!"

ramona with wings

I feel like we met you in the last year. You are as wildly different from me as possible. You are so friendly and warm. You thrive on meeting new people. You jump into new situations with no hesitation  You are fearless and uncomplicated, and I'm like the best friend that quietly hangs in your shadow. I am not like you, but I like you.

This year was hard. You got a baby brother and you grew out of your baby-self. This was hard for you. And it was hard for me, and it was hard for daddy. I have been reading you since the moment you were born. I've been watching you, listening to you, learning you like someone would learn a new language or a holy book. I know that you are mostly reasonable and always loyal. You are wild and you are brave. You are not one to worry over stuff and you take things as the are.

I worry about how trusting you are, I am a person who worries. "Ramona, we never get in cars with strangers, right?" And you say to me, "Mom, nobody is going to steal anybody." And you know, you are probably right.

You are precious to me. Your life is a miracle to your family. It is my hope that four will bring you the joy you are expecting. Happy Birthday, Beautiful.

Love,
Mom                                                  

moving on

The day Elwood was born, everything changed. 

I think I knew having Ramona would change me. I wasn't surprised when I became a different person. But I am very surprised the birth of my second child could bring such a change. I guess I thought he would just be an addition. 

This is not what he has been. I have a new family. And I am a different person.

I am also surprised to discover that this project is over. Ramona and her Mother as a blog that grows each day is over. This space is named after me and I will continue to use it somehow, but Ramona and her Mother is over. I'm now working to bring together the work I've done into a sort of final product that I will share when it's ready. 

I don't know what is next. I recently wrote an e-mail to Dan Magers, whom I consider my writing mentor. I said, "I think I've let go of the idea of being an author and having an audience. I feel like now I am free to embrace the idea of writing for pleasure. I feel free to spend a lot of time on things that won't matter to anyone else, but will bring me a lot of happiness."

His response to me was, "Lately I've been thinking more about writing as a practice, something that one does as an aspect of their life that is integrated among all the other things in life. There are times in which one writes less, times one writes more. Times where some people see your work, and times where you are writing for yourself."

I wonder sometimes at how dull I am. For me, it takes the birth of a new child to realize everything is different. If I were a bit more careful, I could have already seen that everything is always changing and my heart accepts these changes without fail.

for rebekkah and all who pray for her today

Dear Friend, in honor of you I didn't grumble this morning when I had to get out of bed. Every time I fed my new baby last night, I thought of you. I thought of the night feedings you yourself had done several years before. I thought of your son. I thought of all the babies you had wanted.
I poured my coffee. I thought of the coffee your mother might be drinking. Most of all, I think of your mother. How she saw you through the end of your life. How relived she might be to know you are free from pain. I think of my own daughter. And then shut down. Because my heart can not take it.
Today I teach with you in my heart. Every small face I will take a moment to look at, really look. I feel thankful to be waiting for quiet, to be turning a page, to hold a grimy hand. You were so kind to your students. I will try to be kind to mine.
Today every face I see is a face in prayer. We are all walking the steps of our lives with a special attention. Because we are all thinking of you. Every face I see is one in prayer.

- for Rebekkah, may you rest in peace.

- for everyone else, may you find comfort today in love. May you find comfort in the peace that is always there waiting for us.