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Friday
Apr132007
I often star in my own movie
April 13, 2007
I lost a post last night, and waved goodbye to it as it fluttered out my window and into that land where lost posts go. I've been doing this for too long to be losing posts willy-nilly like that, but there you have it. "Live and don't learn," that's my motto, to quote Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes.
It was terrifically interesting, too. Actually, not really, I think I talked about catheters and my bladder. You didn't miss much, but you'll be glad to know that my bladder is working okay again. And I talked about my desire to show people my wound, and how I have good friends who humor me, but how I still want a nurse. I like it when someone comes in to my room and checks on my incision and says, "Oh dearie, you're bruised. Poor thingy," and then clucks with her tongue and pats me on the head, and I gaze up at her patiently with so much strength, bearing the pain so heroically. I'm a good patient, a good heroine in my own drama. I also like watching the food channel with absolutely no guilt, because that's what you DO in the hospital. Watch TV, even in the middle of the day, even at 1:00 in the morning.Â
But other than the lack of Rachael Ray and nurses who coddle me, being home has been so sweet, and hard. Six weeks is a long time to not be able to carry anything over 10 lbs. The nurse told me the rules as I was being discharged, and I gave her a look that oozed, Come on, you are NOT serious, can you seriously expect that from me? Six WEEKS? She nodded, very serious. I don't think I'll make it, I keep forgetting to not pick up my kids. What are you supposed to do when a little missile in the shape of an edible baby comes hurtling towards you?Â
Unfortunately, not pick him up, in my case. So I've been sitting on the floor with my kids a lot, which the Leaf Baby loves, he always loves it when I sit on the floor. He thinks it's great fun. I honestly can't believe how this kid is becoming a kid. I know I wrote about it recently, but when he turns around and sits on my lap like I'm a little chair for him, and I can see on his face that he thinks that this is just so cool, I feel these twinges, these whispery feelings like please don't grow up. And then sometimes this brings a wave of grief and I feel empty again, missing that little baby hope inside me. I was looking at a recent photo of me, one from my Change series, I think, and I looked so happy in the photo that the grief ripples started up again. I don't feel like that girl. I feel curled up, protective. I feel wounded.
Mostly though, this grief has made me thankful. I've been given so much. I marvel over my kids, their bodies. I hold my daughter and trip out thinking about her limbs, arms and legs which are growing. I can't believe they're mine, can't believe I've been trusted like this. I guess I'm slow to understanding my own vocation. Sometimes I've whined about it. I probably will again. But I'm treasuring these days.Â
Last night we had a big bonfire, and a worship circle around it. The older kids love to be allowed to stay up late for these, we've been doing them weekly, and we had a bunch of guests at the Land, which was nice. There is a girl who will be living with us now, up till now she has been living in Golden Gate Park near our old home in San Francisco. Also some travelers who Chinua met in Arcata when he was taking photographs there. A couple of dogs, some more guests, our little community, and my children with me. YaYa sat in my lap and Kid A lay with his head on my knee and the firelight made everyone beautiful and we all sang. I felt very blessed, like God has just opened his hands up and poured goodness into my arms, spilling around me like grain pouring from a chute. The feeling stayed with me even as YaYa pitched a mother of a fit when I decided it was time for bed. I smiled at my tired crying girl as I pyjama'd her against her will and thought-- I know how you feel.
It was terrifically interesting, too. Actually, not really, I think I talked about catheters and my bladder. You didn't miss much, but you'll be glad to know that my bladder is working okay again. And I talked about my desire to show people my wound, and how I have good friends who humor me, but how I still want a nurse. I like it when someone comes in to my room and checks on my incision and says, "Oh dearie, you're bruised. Poor thingy," and then clucks with her tongue and pats me on the head, and I gaze up at her patiently with so much strength, bearing the pain so heroically. I'm a good patient, a good heroine in my own drama. I also like watching the food channel with absolutely no guilt, because that's what you DO in the hospital. Watch TV, even in the middle of the day, even at 1:00 in the morning.Â
But other than the lack of Rachael Ray and nurses who coddle me, being home has been so sweet, and hard. Six weeks is a long time to not be able to carry anything over 10 lbs. The nurse told me the rules as I was being discharged, and I gave her a look that oozed, Come on, you are NOT serious, can you seriously expect that from me? Six WEEKS? She nodded, very serious. I don't think I'll make it, I keep forgetting to not pick up my kids. What are you supposed to do when a little missile in the shape of an edible baby comes hurtling towards you?Â
Unfortunately, not pick him up, in my case. So I've been sitting on the floor with my kids a lot, which the Leaf Baby loves, he always loves it when I sit on the floor. He thinks it's great fun. I honestly can't believe how this kid is becoming a kid. I know I wrote about it recently, but when he turns around and sits on my lap like I'm a little chair for him, and I can see on his face that he thinks that this is just so cool, I feel these twinges, these whispery feelings like please don't grow up. And then sometimes this brings a wave of grief and I feel empty again, missing that little baby hope inside me. I was looking at a recent photo of me, one from my Change series, I think, and I looked so happy in the photo that the grief ripples started up again. I don't feel like that girl. I feel curled up, protective. I feel wounded.
Mostly though, this grief has made me thankful. I've been given so much. I marvel over my kids, their bodies. I hold my daughter and trip out thinking about her limbs, arms and legs which are growing. I can't believe they're mine, can't believe I've been trusted like this. I guess I'm slow to understanding my own vocation. Sometimes I've whined about it. I probably will again. But I'm treasuring these days.Â
Last night we had a big bonfire, and a worship circle around it. The older kids love to be allowed to stay up late for these, we've been doing them weekly, and we had a bunch of guests at the Land, which was nice. There is a girl who will be living with us now, up till now she has been living in Golden Gate Park near our old home in San Francisco. Also some travelers who Chinua met in Arcata when he was taking photographs there. A couple of dogs, some more guests, our little community, and my children with me. YaYa sat in my lap and Kid A lay with his head on my knee and the firelight made everyone beautiful and we all sang. I felt very blessed, like God has just opened his hands up and poured goodness into my arms, spilling around me like grain pouring from a chute. The feeling stayed with me even as YaYa pitched a mother of a fit when I decided it was time for bed. I smiled at my tired crying girl as I pyjama'd her against her will and thought-- I know how you feel.
Reader Comments (12)
your writing is absolutely beautiful
I agree with Jessamyn.
I feel as if I\\\'m on a higher plane as I read your words. I find myself nodding and smiling and wondering, while I have felt much of what you are feeling, why was I never able to express those feelings so eloquently, so meaningfully.
Thank you for your powerful expression.
I can’t believe they’re mine, can’t believe I’ve been trusted like this.
My eldest son is now 12. He is taller than I am. I still cannot believe he and his brothers are mine, that I had a part in the creation of these wonderful creatures.
Â
Oops - see what I mean? I can't even comment properly.
The last two lines are not meant to be in italics.
I know how you feel too- thankful and so happy and empty all at once. Sometimes I just look at my kids and am so amazed, so thankful, and then I feel so keenly the loss of the others. Erik looks at me, his wife who was happy ten seconds ago, and I'm just standing there crying. He knows, though, because it happens to him too. Bless you my friend! I wish I could be around one of those worship circles with you.... someday.
You bring me peace. Thank you for putting into writing what I feel. Blessed.
I've been away and am so sorry to hear about what you have been through. I have read both your and your husband's beautiful posts about the loss of your fourth baby. Please know you are in my thoughts.
Also, while I was away I couldn't help thinking about how you write. It is so, so beautiful. You have a wonderful talent.
You need a nurse or you need your mama - wish we were with you in your worship circle as well.
Your words are amazing - I think that's a bit of what life is like - lots of joy and lots of bitter sweet moments when you find yourself smiling and wanting to cry at the same time.
Reading about YaYa I thought - that's my girl - I totally understand that feeling - being tired but having to go to bed early. I remember when Kid A was around 1 1/2 and he threw the same kind of fit because he had to go early, and you called me into the bedroom to say - I cannot believe this is my son - now you are just taking it in stride. Amazing motherhood!
Firelight does make everyone beautiful doesn't it?
Someday you will stop feeling wounded again and be able to square your shoulders and face the world, no need to rush it though. Curling up is good to.
your words deliver the warmth of the fire,
your children are so fortunate to have such a loving, compassionate and caring mother,
i wish you lots of healing, and warmth, it is hard when our body tells us to rest and our mind and heart are overwhelmed with what we feel we need to be doing, the best thing you can do for your family is love yourself and take as much time to heal, i am sorry you are going through so much, i wish to visit you when you feel better, and our kids can play and meet....
my husband is going to oakland and fresno for a yoga retreat this june, i wish i could go but i am working, we'd like to plan a trip to your comunity in late august or september.... it would be so lovely to share a warm fire with you
warmly,
menaka
I remember holding both my sons after they were born and thinking in disbelief “wow this is mine, he came from my body.†It only stretches further as they grow older and taller.
I wonder sometimes if that disbelief is a gift. Maybe it is for both of our sakes. You know, it gives a sense of distance where we do not voluntarily give it. This sense of awe seems to say for our children, “I need to be my own person, individual, and as I grow up so does your reality of ownership.â€
I have kept you in my thoughts. Thanks for sharing your grief and healing. I take comfort in your strength.
The comments above me are so much more poetic and meaningful than anything I was going to write, so I'll just say "Wow". And "Ditto".
Those moments when you feel your heart is so full, it's pained with joy unspeakable- those for me usually come after grief or loss. The complaining and griping and discontent comes more naturally, however, when nothing's really wrong with me or mine. Sad but true.
Your words are just lovely. Thank you for making me smile today. I think we all feel like YaYa at times- what great word pictures you paint! I'm so grateful to be in THE worship circle with you and so many others.
Still praying for continued peace and healing for you all.