Childhood Is A Short Season

"Childhood is a short season." -Helen Hayes

These are just a few snippets of the beautiful year we have been having so far. Writing those words...'beautiful year'....cuts me and brings tears to my eyes, because I am living each day in such division since my mother passed last August. There is the sweet beauty of my outer world: of my bustling, pretty home, spilling over with Legos; the sing-song of my son's voice asking questions, laughing, singing, complaining, demanding, explaining the world through his eyes, telling me he loves me 'more than there are things;' the daily rhythms of coffee, toast, dog-walking, nature and bird-song, laundry, dishes, friends, groceries, play-dates, meals, bed-time with sleepy cuddles and books in the blue-yellow glow of a globe lamp. And then there is the visceral pain, the choking-on-tears sadness, the inner explosions of desperation at the realization that I cannot bring her back, I cannot change this, this is what I must live with now. Living each day in this divide is still strange, but it is becoming more familiar the longer I live it.

As Helen Hayes says, "Childhood is a short season," and this knowledge, which feels almost like a threat, like a bitter truth, keeps me as firmly planted in gratitude for the every-day as much as possible. This time is fleeting. This time of chlorine and ice cream, sunscreen, scraped knees, a stick-sword, swings and footballs, watching Tom and Jerry under a fluffy comforter while drinking cocoa through a straw, hair still wet from the blow-up pool in the yard; a belly round and sticking out unapologetically, sticky popsicle juice running down fingers, shouting and singing and jumping from high-up places; one moment Super Hero, the next moment curling up in Mama's lap and stroking her arm, needing me and still so small.

Rafael, Mama is so sad sometimes, Mama misses her own Mama, Mama feels lonely and abandoned. Who will love me and call me and check up on me; be concerned, care, and bare witness to the weavings and highlights and tragedies and victories of my life? This was all my Mother; she was difficult and wonderful. She annoyed me and delighted me. She read my blog religiously, she commented on my Facebook posts; she called and wrote and loved watching Rafael grow up. She was a cheerleader, my biggest fan. She saw so much good in me, and wanted to see me flourish and live to my fullest potential. This is all missing now.

But now I am that for you, Rafael. I am your Mama. I am your biggest fan. I annoy you and delight you, I am difficult and wonderful. I will cheer you on, I will remind you all the time how awesome you are. I will watch your life and destiny unfold, I will be here for you as long as I can. I will be concerned, I will care. I will see the good in you, and will help you flourish any way I can.

Childhood is a short season, and I will not let it slip by. I will celebrate each day with you, my boy. Yes I will be sad, I will miss and I will feel that cutting loss. But, my boy, I've got you, and you've got me. And that's more than I could ever ask for.

A New Normal

The other day, through tears, I said to my husband, "I just miss feeling normal." He said: "There's going to be a new normal. Life will never be the same again, just like after we lost our first baby. But there will be a new normal."

Isn't he so right about that? 

Sometimes, things happen in our lives that change everything. They change the way you feel about yourself, and the way you see your life. Game-changers, I guess. At first you are ripped apart, and floating in darkness. You feel alone in your grief. You start to believe that this is all you will ever feel. Then days pass, and despite what people say, the pain doesn't lessen...but it does becomes familiar. You learn to live with it. 

The other day I realized that, from now on, whenever I meet someone new, and they ask about my parents, I will have to say, "My Dad lives in Germany, and my Mom died." This is now a piece of my story, and it's a part I cannot change. 

Rafael asks a lot about death. It has become a permanent part of the landscape of his childhood. This is another thing I cannot change. 

It means so much more than anything I can write here. The loss of my mother, the her-not-being-here, the no-more-letters-or-emails, the fact that her voice is only something I hear in my head. It has so much more weight than I can explain. It is woven throughout my days and nights. I think about it all the time. 

This lump in my throat, and the hot tears that spill. They are a part of my new normal. This missing. The terrible moment when I wake in the morning and remember that she is gone. Her final hours in the hospital, swollen, black and blue...and then seeing her lifeless, her body growing cold. It plays like a film in my mind every day. 

All a part of my new normal.

It's not that there wasn't beauty to be found in her death. Surrounded by loved ones! How many are so fortunate?

And it's not that there isn't beauty in my life. Just look at these photos. So much beauty indeed. 

But for now, it feels somehow separate from me. I laugh and smile, I play with my silly boy, and revel in his perfect face. I smooth his hair, put my face to his head and breath in his scent. I cook good meals, meet good friends. Talk about all the hundreds of things there are to talk about. 

But always, just beneath the surface, like a fine, lavender fog-colored layer that only I can see, right there, like a layer of second skin...there is that sadness. Always that sadness.

So the new normal is still settling in. I am still learning what it all means. 

xoxoxoxo

A Perfect Autumn Walk

Hope you are all having a beautiful Autumn.

Thank you all so much for your kind words regarding the loss of my mother.

xoxoxo Dawn

The Day My Mom Died

These pictures were taken just outside of San Francisco on the morning of August 25th. Later that day, my Mom died. She had been ill for a long time without knowing it, and once she found out, it went fast. We flew to her and spent her final days together. I was there, holding her foot, when she passed. 

Her illness was one of the reasons I stopped writing here. I found it hard to concentrate, hard to write about the beauty in each day. 

I don't know if I will continue this blog. Lately I find it hard to share personal things. 

I can tell you this: Rafael is blossoming, healthy, hilarious, and the most amazing person I've ever met. He is doing very well. 

The woods are still my sanctuary, the dogs are still my comfort, and my husband is still my best friend. 

I miss my Mom every day. It is unfair, and cruel, that she is gone. The past couple of years have been difficult, and I have had to be very strong. 

Fortunately, my life is also sparkling with blessings, wonders, and miracles.

Love, Dawn

Questions

Although there is no snow, everything is gilded with ice. The frozen ground crunches under foot and the tree tops are frosted white.

I took my camera on a walk along my favorite new forest path, which leads to a grassy open area, all the shades of camel, sand, chestnut, and pale wheat. It is so beautiful there right now. Tranquil, completely silent except for the chirping of birds who swoop from branch to blackberry cane. The mist is so heavy that it is hard to tell where the trees end and the sky begins. I couldn't stop taking photographs.

I wanted to tell you about the combination of things which have made daily living in it's current state a bit difficult: since winter is here, and it is bitterly cold, Rafael doesn't want to stay in the forest very long in the mornings. He also has stopped taking naps at midday. And he also has found it hard lately to play on his own, which he used to do for long periods of time. This means that we have a ton of time indoors where he is dissatisfied. His friends are all in daycare or kindergarten, and he is starting to get antsy and bored with me as a play mate. I am really beginning to realize how unnatural it is for a child and a mother to be alone for such long periods of time. I don't think it is good for him, or for me. He needs the company of other children. And I need to talk about something other than firemen, and need to do something other than desperately try to come up with something to keep my son busy and happy. 

My husband's work year has come to a close and it has been refreshing to have more time for myself while he goes on little day trips to the zoo or museums with Rafael. While they strengthen their bond, I am quieting down and getting to know myself as a whole person, aside from my role as a mother. These quiet hours to myself, either at home or in the woods, give me the possibility to reflect on what I want. What is working in my life, and what could use improvement. Which areas need a little fixing, and which areas need a big renovation.

Questions I am asking myself lately: When this new year begins, what do I want to change about our daily rhythm? Should Rafael spend more time with other children in a childcare setting? Would it be better for him, and for myself, to have some space, and to have experiences with other children and people? Am I holding him back by keeping him at home? Or am I pushing him to early if I send him to daycare or kindergarten? If Rafael starts going to kindergarten or daycare a few mornings a week, how am I going to use my time alone? Should I do something creative? Something that earns money? Something creative that earns money would be great...but is that realistic? Should I instead use the time alone to get housework done so I can focus on Raffi when he's home? Or....should he stay home longer, as originally planned, and I just need to structure our at-home time better, and begin teaching him things at home myself? Will staying home make me bitter? Or do I just need a different approach?

I still have not found the answers to these questions. I am hoping things will evolve and form naturally, that answers will present themselves, that things will flow easily and I will make changes and decisions lovingly and with a happy heart. 

What I know for sure is that I must make some changes.

I feel pressure, in the time I have to myself, to be especially productive; to do or make something creative. I ask myself: is there really room, time, space, for me to just be for a little bit? Can I allow myself that? Today I finally let myself sit in bed for a while, looking out the window at bare branches and sky, even dozing off. I am so used to functioning day in and day out, and using every spare minute productively. After all, friends and family ask: "So, what did you do with your free time?" I always feel like I should have these great things to report. 

Just being along, doing nothing for a little while, felt like the biggest luxury imaginable. 

xoxoxo