It’s been a year, dear Mom…

Dear Mom,  I was near your old house this week,
a whole year since the last time I got to squeeze your tiny hand
and kiss your sunken cheek
still remarkably soft like the young one that used to nuzzle mine.
I was so tired,  Mom,  and I felt overcome with missing you,
such a longing to drop by your house with the open windows and fresh linens,
and say,  “Mom I need a nap,”  and you’d have welcomed me in with care in your voice
and maybe even stroked my hair for a minute
as breeze slipped soft through your crisp white curtains
while I sunk into sleep for just awhile.
After my nap we’d have shared a cup of tea
and I’d have felt less lonely with each sip.

But as much as I miss you,  I’m glad you didn’t have to navigate this year.
People have been so cruel to each other,  Mom;  it’s harsh enough to blister a heart
but Lord knows you’d have loved the sparring.
And you know I’d have quietly withered a bit over each of your fb posts:)
Oh sweet mercy that your political soap box was retired
before this year of hard shaking.
(smile)

Yeah this year has been a non-stop rumble,  Mom,
– such a catalyst for change.
Kind of like an asteroid slammed into everyone’s backyard.
I’m feeling much charred but also grateful for how it came shaving off places I didn’t know
needed impact until I noticed some shift
in my entitled,  self-righteous places.  Oye.
I hope I’m becoming a better peace-builder.
And even with our wildly differing perspectives,
I always heard the affection in your voice every time you greeted me
and I miss it much.
I know your love was real.

I’ve still got my big feelings
and kind of sense that you don’t find them so daunting now,
like we’re closer somehow
from where you’ve landed,
as if my “too much” doesn’t feel as much so
in the great spacious wide you now enjoy.
I imagine you in those brilliantly lit fields of beyond
and think somehow that we could picnic there for hours,
together without a single sticky fear to flare up between us.
When I climb to the parkway,  to the rocky winds where we released your bones,
I let the jagged light kiss the spaces we kept between us
and it feels like healing
and home.

Last week in your city,  hungry for rest and feeling homesick and alone,
I remembered how you used to crawl into the warm car you parked in the sunny spot
of our old driveway just to take a nap.  Sanctuary:)
The memory felt a little like an invitation,
like I could hear you say,
“just lay back the seat,  dear,  and catch a few winks.”
And you know what,  Mom,  I did  – right there on the street where I was working.
I shimmied down,  closed my eyes,  and imagined you there beside me.
I woke up revived and thinking I’d heard you sigh.

I made you a garden this year.
Out of your favorite things – words and beauty.
On your favorite platform (Lord help us) – facebook.
I tried to show up daily – didn’t make all the days but gave it my all.
I leaned in to cobble together words and images that would lift,
and encourage from a mama-heart.
To honor your fierce like-a-lion love.
I used your pet word “dear” so much I can hardly punch it into the keys now
and I think your garden is full.
Am needing some rest from the digging –  want to go build other things
so I’m calling time.  It’s enough,  and I believe I feel your smile on that, too.
So weird how I made this for you but I grew way richer
in my own heart than anything I could’ve given.
Your generosity still kisses my life with gold.

I honor you,  Mom,
will continue to honor you by living my life – the one that you helped carry –
from the bottom of my being
until I’ve squeezed free every last drop.
I love you forever.

“Out beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing
there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.”
– Rumi

Thanks for letting me grieve and process out loud,  dear ones.
Your reads and comments are precious to me.
And congrats to Maureen – I drew your name to receive the giveaway bundle
I’ll make for you this week.
With joy:)
More giveaways coming soon.

The most creative thing I know……

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I’m grateful ~  so much ~ for creativity.
For the way it feels like flight and flutter and drift and dance,
and that free and airy feeling of stretching out your body
after being folded up closed too long,
or taking a mug of steaming goodness into cold hands
or digging like a child in the sand.

For me it is the feeling of when someone brings you flowers
or opens a window to let the stuffy out
– the smell of a freshly bathed dog
or sunshine in clothes dried fresh on a line.
It’s starshine and moonglow and getting caught up in a satisfying flow,
every shade and tone and color and the feeling of an open road.

Creativity feels like all of the ways that poetry happens,
that family happens,
that art and rest and friendship happen.
And the surprising lift of grace when all you could see was a long,  slow climb.

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It’s ears to hear the whisper and beating heart to feel the pain,
the power to be gentle and the room we’re free to make.
It’s “I’m sorry” and “me, too,”
“I need some help.”  “I understand.”
It’s throttle down and rest
and that mistakes are a part of the plan.

It’s the artful gift of a friendly listen
and time taken slow to be heard.

I see creativity as less a thing and more a being;
a person to dance with;  a partner in collaboration.
It might just be the heartbeat of God:)

Someone asked me recently what’s the very most creative thing that I  know.
My first thought: LOVE –  love is a wildly creative thing.
All rivers and fountains and flowers and fields
and bulbs and seeds and stories and songs
and the gazillions of ways that it waltzes right in when hope holds open the door.
Then I thought how maybe the most creative act of love
might be reconciliation.

This one creative thing I celebrate today –
the way of hearts and lives becoming free and fitted back together again
in a healthy and life-giving way.
For this I fling thanks like paint with fresh passion,
and for you,  my traveling companions
– happy Thanksgiving,
with love!

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How cool is this canvas we’re all given:)

“We’re on a planet.  At the same time.  In the universe.
Let’s do something great together!”
– Jeff Byington

“That cannot be.  Unless it could!”
– from Alice Through the Looking Glass

Thanks for coming by,  my creative friend:)
I believe your juiciest days are ahead.