Growth

The biggest bird I’ve ever seen

filled the sky and then my screen

formed of air and formed of mist

for but a moment to exist

suspended there with widespread wings

embracing me and everything

embracing all that it could reach

a lesson here for me to teach

for but a moment... yes that’s true

just a blink for me, for you

time is ticking soon it ends

we lose our patience, lose our friends

we lose our things we lose our light

the day gives way unto the night

we lose our joy, we lose our love

we lose our faith in God above

we lose the laughter, lose our grip

we lose our footing then we slip

we lose our childhood then our youth

we lose sight of what’s the truth

we lose time, we lose the day

we lose our chance, we lose our way

we lose the peace we fought to gain

we lose our mind we go insane

we lose our strength we lose our sight

we lose our cool and start to fight

we lose our dream, we lose our hope

lose all ability to cope

we lose our kids we lose our car

we lose all sense of who we are

we lose our parents, lose some weight

we lose our hair our eyes go faint

we lose so much it’s hard to know

how losing things can help us grow

and yet it does or so it seems

we grow some insight to our needs

we grow some balls, we grow a spine

grow out of saying “No, it’s fine”

we grow some wings, we grow some sense

we drop the need for all pretence

we grow some wisdom, grow some light

grow used to shadows in the night

we grow in touch with all we are

we grow used to battle scars

we grow weak or we grow strong

grow used to sometimes being wrong

we grow up, we grow old

we grow meek, we grow bold

we grow a voice that’s all our own

we stop expecting blood from stone

we grow patience we grow wealth

then understand that time is stealth

we grow sick we grow weary

we look around and we grow teary

we grow wistful for the time

before our age started to climb

for but a moment to exist

formed of air and formed of mist

filled the sky and then my screen

the biggest bird I’ve ever seen.

- Vera Patterson

The Living Dead

On a canoe ride in Cootes Paradise this week, we stopped to enjoy a picnic under this tree. I love trees. I am drawn to them. They inspire me to explore deep thoughts and emotions. As we sat I was not surprised my mind turned as it did.

More interesting to me than the limbs that thrive, are the dead ones. The ones that still cling to the trunk, some longer than others, evidence of the time and energy invested in their growth before their lives were terminated.

Even though they are dead, as the limbs age, rot, then are torn away from the trunk by a gust of wind or under the weight of winter ice, even then, the tree long thought to have dealt with the loss of life will find itself healing anew. Ten, twenty or fifty years from now the wound from the loss will never heal so fully that one who sits under it won't be able to see where the tree has been wounded.

Still, the tree grows majestically. It reaches it's thriving limbs out across the water. It drinks deeply. It provides oxygen, shade, food, shelter for wild life as well as for the pair of us looking for a place to catch our breath; feed our bodies; renew our spirits.

As my thoughts continue on to myself, I consider the number of ideas, dreams, and relationships that had to die in order for me to grow. Like the tree, the remnants of my abandoned things either cling to or have wounded me. I wonder how much easier life would be if my wounds and yours were worn externally or at least openly.

When we climb back into the canoe, I rest my hand on the tree, feel its strength. I glance back at the tangled bare limbs, thank them for their nakedness. In the moment we push off from shore I am deeply grateful for the beauty, for the truth. I look at all the places the tree tried to grow; tried and succeeded for some time before failing.

I see life. I see me. I see you too.

Fourty-Five

 WOW 45... I Remember when, at 15 I moved to NJ to live with my Aunt and Uncle to ostensibly get to know my American relatives better but in reality to break free from the limiting role my siblings had put me in and recast my role as, not the youngest sister, but as me.

Auntie June and Uncle Kevin seemed ancient back then yet now looking back I they were even younger than I am now.

I never would have guessed that breaking free of other people's image of me to stand in the light of the truth of who I am would become a lifelong journey.

At 45 life is an interesting mix of predictability and beautiful surprises. I am grateful for the people I am surrounded by; for every moment I have spent mothering, friending, cooking, cleaning, driving, teaching, learning and loving.

I used to think that I gave too much of my time and attention to causes and people who didn't deserve it, now I realize that few of us (me included) deserve the mercy and grace others extend.

I used to believe the choices my kids make should reflect the values I instilled, now (thanks Zoe, Antonios, Miles and Athena) I insist that their choices reflect who they are and who they want to be in this world.

I used to suppress the part of me that wanted to connect with God, now I actively seek out and pay attention to the Divine.

At 45 I am old enough to know that freedom is more about the ability to be who you are than the ability to go where you want.

Until I sit down to capture a moment, create a poem, or offer encouragement and support, my 15-year-old self would hardly recognize this me. A me who willingly admits to not having the answers; who makes the bed even before leaving the bedroom; who has learned to celebrate as vigorously as she grieves; who doesn't need to hide her tears; who voices her opinions and who actively explores her spirituality. A me who has learned that no matter what the problem is, love is usually the answer; who belongs wherever I choose to find common ground (there is always common ground). A me who believes you can never be grateful enough for the gift of life - regardless of its condition; as long as you are alive  you have something to offer.

If I have 45 more years or a day I want to spend my time accepting and loving and perhaps putting a few more words on paper because there are always more words.

Hardenening My Heart

It's interesting...

I recently started practicing what some would call "tough love" on my 17-year-old daughter.  She had, unfortunately, stepped over the line one too many times. In spite of several civil conversations and mild attempts to help correct her, she has thus far refused to reform.

So, time to step it up.

I asked my lovely daughter to make me two lists: one of all the things I have to do for her, and one of all the things that I actually do for her.  Zoe's a smart girl.  Her have to list was short and sweet - food, shelter, clothing... While her actual list acknowledged both the big and small things I do to make her life more comfortable.

To remedy our disagreement my plan was pretty simple.  Zoe could ask for anything on her short list.  The items on the long list, however, including laundry, cooking, and transporting to work, school, her boyfriend's and early morning rowing practice, were inaccessible to her until she apologized and committed to better behavior.

I forgot who I was dealing with.

My daughter is very stubborn.  She is also very resourceful.

On Monday when I drove her brother to their bus stop I passed Zoe walking resolutely down the road. Having dropped him off, I headed home and found myself in her direct line of sight. I waved a hearty hello and kept driving. I felt my heart harden with resolve.

On Tuesday, even though she sat at the table, I served dinner to everyone except her. When I took my seat she realized her blunder and rose to serve herself.

On Wednesday morning I got out of bed and made my way downstairs to drive her brother to 7am rowing practice.

"How are you getting to rowing?" I asked her.

"I thought you would drive me since you're going there anyway," was her hopeful reply.

I looked at her.  Just looked and as I saw it dawn on her that I was not going to drive her, I also again felt something in me harden.

It has been five weeks or so since this standoff started.  Zoe has proven herself more resourceful than I could have imagined walking everywhere she needs to go or taking the bus.  At home we engage in friendly conversation and except for the nights that she still occasionally forgets to wash the dishes, she observes all the rules of the house. 

I'm not sure if it's right or wrong but part of me is proud of her for standing up for what she believes in and not allowing outside pressure, even mine, to change her. The other part feels frustrated and ineffective. Whatever it is, we seem to have entered into a new phase of our relationship. One in which she is more mature and self-reliant but also one in which I am less of a soft place for her to turn.

I am also finding it difficult not to apply this new found hardness to other relationships in my life and I'm not sure I like it. I'm not sure if my experiment is worth it or even if I can call it successful if I lose some of what I love about myself and some of who I am in the process.