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

Christmas

I hope you're all enjoying the holidays. 

Things are very different with my husband home. Rafael is so excited to play and spend time with his father, and he usually pushes me away when I want to join saying, "No Mama, not you. Go away." I don't take it personal, or at least I try not to. I know he is making up for all the many many days his father was away or distracted this past year. Those two have a lot of catching up and bonding to do. 

This was the first Christmas where Rafael was aware of what was going on, so it was a lot of fun to get into all the magic making. Putting out cookies and a letter for Santa, wondering with Raffi what he would get, then clapping and saying 'Hurrah!' when there were gifts under the tree Christmas morning. Santa brought Raffi a big wooden Noah's Ark, and he has been playing with it for hours every day since, putting the animals in and out, and looking for the Mamas of the baby animals, reuniting them. "Where are you Mama Sheep? There is your Mama, little baby sheep. Now you can go in the boat with her."

I do sense that Rafael is going through a difficult period. He is very whiny and resistant to almost everything. He hates going on morning walks, which means that every day begins with a struggle. We try to mix things up, bring toys and tools along, go on new paths, pack a picnic. But he's not having it. He gets specific ideas in his head and when they don't happen he has major melt downs. We are doing that balancing act of trying to avoid freak-outs, but also trying to avoid raising a tyrant. It's tough. 

Still, at the end of the day, with our feet up on the coffe table and our nerves slowly easing, we look at each other and say, "Now that he's sleeping, I miss him." "He's so incredibly cute." "Remember when he said this and and did that?" 

Thanks for all of your input regarding my inner dialogue about parenting and the future. I really appreciate it.

xoxoxo

To be so strong

“Promise Yourself

To be so strong that nothing
can disturb your peace of mind.
To talk health, happiness, and prosperity
to every person you meet.

To make all your friends feel
that there is something in them
To look at the sunny side of everything
and make your optimism come true.

To think only the best, to work only for the best,
and to expect only the best.
To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others
as you are about your own.

To forget the mistakes of the past
and press on to the greater achievements of the future.
To wear a cheerful countenance at all times
and give every living creature you meet a smile.

To give so much time to the improvement of yourself
that you have no time to criticize others.
To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear,
and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.

To think well of yourself and to proclaim this fact to the world,
not in loud words but great deeds.
To live in faith that the whole world is on your side
so long as you are true to the best that is in you.” 

-Christian D. Larson Your Forces and How to Use Them

Maybe these words will enfold you in their warmth. When I read them I was filled with inspiration, and the strong desire to be true to the best that is in me.

The photos were taken at Annahof, an organic farm we like to visit whenever we get a chance. 

xoxoxo

I'm Ready For a New Year

As the cold and mist settle in and the last leaves flutter down from bare branches, I am ready to welcome winter, and say farewell to 2013. 

Since moving to a country with the four seasons, I have learned what the cold season means for my soul. It's a quiet, contemplative time. A time to gather your nerves, hunker down, light candles, and be strong. The survivor inside of me is called forth. I cook hearty meals and am challenged with extra chores like washing salt and mud from doggy paws after walks and dressing my wriggly toddler in many layers before each outing. 

Long icy winters build character. They test your patience and optimism. I appreciate people who appreciate winter. When someone says, "I love winter," they are immediately a bit more charming to me. 

As much as winter wears on me by the time February rolls around, I really love the beginning. The first snow; that clean, pure smell the air has on a freezing winter evening. The glow of warm homes, dots of lights in the velvety dark blue of night. The lemony morning sky. Gathering evergreen and pine cones in the woods. Baking gingerbread and making lemon curd. Piling the quilts on the bed and waking up to a snow covered world.

I have been trapped at home all week with a sick boy. I think we have passed the worst. We had some pretty horrible days and nights. And as you can imagine, I am longing for the woods, for fresh air, for moving my legs, watching my boy as he scrambles up hillsides and climbs wood piles. I miss taking photographs and observing the daily minute changes in our forest. 

Surely Rafael misses it all too.

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