I post this every year….a healing, loving ritual
because I need to somehow honor those days out loud,
especially for those who maybe still haven’t found their voices
And for all mothers everywhere, because our hearts bear always the stretch marks
of loving and letting go.
It was March, 1979.
Breezes turned balmy and I pulled off my shoes, letting swollen feet tramp across warming earth.
I was pregnant with my first baby, due St. Patrick’s Day.
For weeks I had ached for time to stop,
squeezing myself shut to the coming separation,
the word “relinquish” heavy on my heart.
But today the weather had turned, and hadn’t everything somehow changed?
Spring had come with her own dreamy wildness
and waves to ride far beyond the looming loss.
I spent the day sunsoaking,
watching the wind stir the tireswing I’d played in
not so long ago.
I was newly seventeen,
an “unwed” mother
with an unwanted chore:
to give my baby to someone she deserved.
Soon she would come apart from me,
gone before the leaves flushed out.
Their buds were fat and ready to pop.
I went quiet with the knowing.
But this day was vivid lovely and it got inside me.
As the sun began to dip low,
a storm of pain rumbled and hammered down urgency
inside my belly
as grownup voices began herding me into the night.
As my frightened parents gathered my things to the car,
I lunged back inside for one last moment alone
with the gentle life that had shaken mine
with her own gentle worth.
I lowered my heavy frame onto the bed and tried to sing one last lullaby
but could do only tears.
A fragile goodbye.
Following strong contractions downstairs and into the night,
I returned home with only fierce memory
of her tiny fingers and face.
But I’m forever marked by her essence,
often swept away by her melody
as it drifts across my heartstrings.
I recognize her song.
Thirty seven Springs.
I honor each of her days.
And today I tenderly comfort the girl-in-me who carried her
before she was transplanted into the garden
that nurtured her to thriving.
And I remember those shimmery days when we were just us,
when she was still mine.
Thanks for giving a listen. For being a witness. I hold it as a gift with love and thanks.
“The dark does not destroy the light; it defines it.
It’s our fear of the dark that casts our joy into the shadows.”
– Brene’ Brown
“When you get to the place where you understand that love and belonging,
are a birthright and not something you have to earn,
anything is possible.”
– Brene’ Brown
I’m celebrating life this week and want to offer up a package of goodness, Stargirl style,
in a drawing. Just because I can. And it makes my heart smile.
I’ll draw a name from comments and make up a gift box
full of handmade art, handwritten love, and beautiful little surprises
picked especially you.
A little love bomb:)
Just plunk a comment in the box and I’ll send your name into the mix.