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

January and February

The first month of the year came and went in the blink of an eye. So many changes and new routines. Rafael began going to daycare two mornings a week and is getting settled in. I started waking up while it was still dark and the icy streets were empty to jog with the dogs. My husband's work year started up once again. Things felt fresh and full of good intentions.

My birthday was celebrated with a small but spectacular chocolate cake. I asked my husband to bring home flowers to decorate it, and he brought a big bouquet of roses. I ended up putting them in a vase and only using a cloud of baby breath on top of the frosting. I loved the simple look, paired with tall, thin candles. Friends and family came for the afternoon, it was a noisy bunch, toddlers running in and out of rooms, laughter and conversation. A friend made me a lovely little paintbrush organizer. My husband gave me a new wide lens for my camera. 

A couple of weeks ago Rafael got sick and I spent one of those terrible weeks stuck indoors with him. We watched lots of dvds, read hundreds of books, rolled out play-doh and lay out train tracks. He got amazingly good at doing puzzles. There were of course nice moments, but I have to admit that when he is sick I get depressed and my nerves are frazzled. Our whole rhythm is destroyed, and we are trapped inside these rooms with no break for days on end. I dream of going back to our regular daily routine, meeting with friends, going into the woods, even just going to the grocery store. In the end Rafael always seems a bit taller, and wiser. And I always think, "Why can't I just be more patient and serene?" 

Lately, when I get angry, and then Rafael and I make up again, he asks, "Are we best friends again?" And I melt and say, "Of course, we are always best friends, even when I'm angry." 

In my spare time I have been organizing my photographs and designing a logo and blog for my future small photography business. I will be offering child, family, and adult portraits. I'm feeling excited, mixed with fear and insecurity....can I do this? Will I be good at this? Will customers be satisfied? Am I capable of making smart business decisions? I try to put these questions in the back of my mind and don't let them slow me down.

Another important thing going on in my life right now is that, 11 days ago, I began Jamie Eason's LiveFit 12 week trainer program, and I'm already seeing and feeling results. It's mostly a mental challenge for me, sticking to the diet and getting my exhausted self to the gym. But the positive benefits are keeping me motivated. I don't want to look at old photos of the great figure I used to have with a sad feeling anymore...I want to look in the mirror and feel great about what I see. I also want to prove to myself that I can do this. It's not easy...if it was easy, everyone would do it. Sometimes I think, "What am I doing? Every-day-stuff is hard enough without adding all this meal preparation and training to the picture. Who cares if I'm out of shape. I'm a mom." My body is much stronger than my mind. My body if capable of so much. It's my mind that causes problems! I can't tell you how often I go on Instagram and look at motivating photos of fit moms, just to get myself to put on my gym clothes and go there. 

So that's what's been going on around here. I hope to blog again soon!

xoxoxo

I would take you by the hand, dear reader....

What an unexpected, beautiful surprise, now at the end of the year, to discover a completely new path in the woods. As you know, I walk our dogs every day. And I admit, our usual dirt roads have begun to lose some of their magic for me, considering I see those same trees and logs and bushes every day, and now is the season where things look the same for a long, long time. Bare, brown, wet. Beautiful, yes, but I wasn't feeling as excited to take our morning walks anymore. 

There is a wooded hillside that we look at from our kitchen window, and when we moved here, we saw a large herd of wild boar digging their snouts through the snow, looking for food in deep winter. Although this was a beautiful sight, looking out from the within our warm, secure home, it made me a bit afraid of that part of the forest. Then some other dog owners told me there were also a lot of deer in those parts. This all made me hesitant to enter the woods on that side, and so years have gone by with a whole area of wilderness that I had never explored right in front of us. 

I had a morning off the other day and was feeling a mixture of bored of my regular walks, and brave enough to try something new. I thought, Today is the day, I'm going to finally have a look at those woods...I need inspiring to take photographs of!

I headed into unknown territory, going up the steep path that was ankle deep with fallen leaves. At first I wasn't very impressed; it was basically the same as the other way I go every day. But then I noticed that there was sky shining from behind the trees up at the top of the hill, and I got curious about what was on the other side. I went quicker, motivated by curiosity, noticing how happy the dogs were to have a fresh path to sniff. 

Finally I reached the top and the thin path I had been on joined a wide dirt road. The sky was big and there were birds fluttering and chirping in that wide open space. A valley, tall grasses bleached by the cold, dry brown thistles and gigantic piles of logs. Silvery birch, bare and blue against the tan, camel hillside. My heart was beating fast as I took pictures. I was dumfounded that this beauty was right behind my home. 

If I could, I would take you there. I would take you by the hand, dear reader, and lead you up the papery path, up up up, til the trees spread and the sky stretches and you feel small under a big sky. You feel far away from the cars and houses. Time stops. There is only sky, birds, trees, tall grass, and the road under your feet.

At the first chance I took Rafael and Ramon to see it. 

I want you to know how happy I am to have this new place to photograph, to share with you. The next four seasons will be so much sweeter because of this.

xoxoxo

Late Fall

As I write this, Rafael is cuddled up on the couch with a fever watching Handy Manny, and the first snow is falling outside, leaving everything covered in white. We rolled out sticky brown dough this morning and baked up foxes, stars, and hedgehogs, and now our home has the deep spicy scent of gingerbread. The dogs are snoring. We are still in our pajamas. 

These photos were taken a few days ago before Rafael fell sick, at the local nature park. There are deer and wild pigs, and now that the cold weather had settled in, there are huge piles of sugar beets that you can feed to them. Raffi and his cousins loved climbing over the sugar beets, picking out the biggest ones, and giving them to the deer and pigs. Rafael said he was 'working,' which meant taking beets from one pile and bringing them to another. I was so glad that the large deer buck came to us, eating the roots from our hands, letting me take some photos of him with his herd.

Thank you all for the words that came from your hearts. I felt the warmth and comfort in them. This year has been incredibly difficult and at times very dark for me, from beginning to end. There are some things I haven't shared here because they are too personal and painful. But you have always been here, a source of light and support. I am very grateful.

Now, when Raffi is sick, it is time for patience, cuddling, reading books, and waiting. I can hardly wait to get out into the snowy woods!

xoxoxo 

What these pictures don't tell you...

What these pictures don't tell you is that the past couple of weeks have been a struggle. My husband was nearing a burn-out, I cry almost every morning out of frustration because getting Rafael and the dogs and myself ready to leave the house feels like an almost impossible feat, and I feel disconnected to my friends and family.

What these pictures don't tell you is that what I really truly desire is to connect deeply and truly with people; to understand and feel understood; to support and feel supported.

What these pictures don't tell you is that I have selfish material desires, like a big lovely home surrounded by land and trees. I try to be content with what I have, it's more than I dared to wish for in the past. But fantasies creep up into my mind, no matter how hard I try to focus on my blessings.

What these pictures don't tell you is that I don't know what I'm doing sometimes. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing for my son, for my dogs, for my husband, for my friends, for my family, for my self. 

What these pictures don't tell you is that I get pangs of jealousy when I look at pictures on Instagram. And then I feel guilty for feeling jealous. 

What these pictures don't tell you is that I have gained back 7 of the 25 pounds I lost. 

What these pictures don't tell you is that I worry. I worry so much and so often!

What these pictures don't tell you is that my most meaningful relationship is with my son. It scares and overwhelms me how significant and important he is to me. It frightens me how much I love him. It baffles me that this person, who is so tiring, demanding, and exhausting, can be the light of my life and the one thing in my life I know to be true and good.

xoxoxo