Heidi Beth

It was my turn to stay with my mom at the hospital last night. We arrived after 11pm (my evening nap lasted a bit longer than anticipated) to relieve my dad so he could head home for much needed rest. A bit after midnight David picked up the boys, my dad left and my mom and I got down to the business of serious rest. By a stroke of perceiving the obvious (how did we all miss it for five days?), my mom suggested we move the table-on-wheels to the other side of the bed so she could reach her phone, mouth swab, etc. In this way, I was able to get some sleep and my mom felt less at loose ends.

My dad arrived at 6:30 this morning, I left at 8:30, planning on getting coffee, a few groceries, breakfast, and a shower. I’ve managed three out of four so far. Showers take a backseat as needed, though I may yet get clean.

Here’s the gift. Last night, trying to get up after the nap, I was tired like a lead weight, but I knew my responsibility so went to the hospital. This morning I’ve been happily surprised by an abundance of unexpected sweetness. I had a choice between getting coffee at Starbucks or Common Ground. Though I wasn’t interested in conversing (almost inevitable at the Co-op), I followed a twinge of intuition and drove into the mall lot to find the weekly Farmer’s Market in full swing. Again I almost left, but followed that small inner voice.

First, my favorite cashier was at Common Ground and I thoroughly enjoyed our brief visit. Second, coffee in hand, I ambled the Market, aisle by aisle, trailed and led by the memories of all the years we’ve been going there. Images of Bill and Bahiyyih, our small fry in strollers and toddling beside, how I arranged the world and the contents of my mind back then, it all walked with me, hand in hand with the most recent recollection, the few hours I had just spent in the hospital with my mom, praying, laughing together some, doing my best to help her be comfortable, listening to her converse with her dreams in the dark morning, and how I am simply taking life day by day just now.

As I’ve been about town this Saturday morning, I find my heart reaching out to each and every person I pass. I stare too long, but I must be smiling right. So many people have smiled back, seeming to be genuinely pleased with the interaction.

I’m tempted to head back over to the Farmer’s Market to see if Michael the One Man Band is there yet, but really, a shower would be a good idea…

to market at dusk
brown-speckled bananas, organic mints, time
she’s locking patio furniture with a hundred-foot cable
i sit
so humid, clouds, those pink chalk smudges above
hold still
cicadas, tire spokes, boys’ foot steps
an orchestra
i inhale pastel petals in wooden crates
solitude lifts my breath
if you were here, i would offer a sip of ginger-ale

I look across the kitchen table at my eleven year old son, and in a moment of grace, I forget our growing pains, his manifested discontent, that I’ve been cloaked in my own frustration all morning; a discomfort triggered by his determination to see an idea through though we’ve told him more than once to stop, and so have been gifted with a display not exactly like a tantrum, but not far from.

As I gaze on my son’s angular form, I remember that I am his mother, he is my cherished baby. I cooed over him, watched with held breath as he toddled two steps in Nana’s bright living room, an eleven month old miracle. I remember his toothless grin, bouncing sun-streaked auburn curls, and a light in his eyes. It seemed to call, “I am a magic elf and you are my best friend. Shall we play and laugh forever?”

I’ve been staring at my growing boy for a while. He’s engrossed in a book, unaware of my transformation. I am lost and found, lighter for seeing him as the jewel he is, for waking up (again) to how how quickly eleven years has passed, that eighteen is surely a blink away. He looks up from his Superman comic, reads me for a moment, then smiles back.

Let’s say you’re deathly afraid of heights. If there’s a chance you’re going to need to leap off a cliff (like it or not), make sure there is deep water below. If you have in fact confirmed the water level to be sufficient, and all of a sudden, there you are at the precipice with say, a hungry lion on your trail,  jumping is safer than trying to confuse or overpower the very large cat!

Today I thought about discontent, having what we want/have worked for, doing enough, and gratitude. I hear, “I should not be sad/angry/overwhelmed, after all, look at my healthy family/nice home/promising career.” But we are distressed. There is something more we need to consider.

We have been lured to want what is not good for us; more things, more money, more enriching activities – at the expense of simple, loving, supportive community. So once we get what we think we want, we are still by ourselves (as an individual or a family), and that is not enough. We then talk ourselves into being grateful and that helps for a while, but really, we need accompaniment through the dailiness that is life, even when everything is going along basically fine. We need to be helping each other as a habit, not waiting for the big opportunities, like fire, a new baby, natural disaster. I expect folks who observe the Sabbath have a handle on how to do this, at least once a week.

As a country we are suffering from acute loneliness, and it is driving many folks literally crazy.