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| Nine months along with you; down in the valley. Photo thanks to Natalie Baird. October 2018 |
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Today marks eight years since we lost a dear woman in our family. Marj, rest you dear woman. What kind of vantage point have you carved out for yourself today, I wonder? I can easily imagine you perched on a branch, observing your children go amongst their days with their children in tow--your grandchildren--growing, growing, grown. Some of them so grown by now they are independent of their parents. Maybe they too are looking toward the treetops, searching for signs of you watching from above. Oh, there is so much to tell. You know it all I'm sure, but it bugs me how much time has passed since we last had a good laugh on the phone. Whenever I was in distress in the past (be it stranded on a logging road with nothing but a satellite phone and a bag of sunflower seeds to my name or in the throes of an adult tantrum that needed to be laughed off) I could call you, and you would carve out time. I miss you for so much but I really miss your laughter in the face of darkness.
Today, as I stood in a funny nook outside of the labour and delivery ward at Women's waiting to hear where my name fell on the Induction list, a woman and her very, very fresh infant were wheeled past the spot where my mom and I were waiting. I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all. We wait for life as we mourn death. You would have stopped her bed and all the people around that tired looking new momma and exclaimed how "BEAUUUUUUUTIFUL" she and her new babe were. Everyone would have smiled and somehow you would have gotten away with such a bold move in that split second of incredible tenderness and vulnerability. I honour your incredible spirit today with a good laugh, a good meal, and this old song. I love you. Rest easy, dear one. This one goes out to you. Still makes me cry, eight years and counting...
Ps. It felt incredibly appropriate this afternoon to pick up two rolls of pregnancy portraits. I felt you near that afternoon as I leapt through the valley in my birthday suit. Never heavier, never freer, never happier. You were chuckling to yourself I am sure as Natalie framed up the magic on my Kiev. As we walked toward Honky Tonk, I stopped short on the worn path in my boots and antique wedding dress and pointed to the blue sky. Golden Eagle flying free. Hello! Goodbye! I love you.
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"Viewing parenthood as a process of spiritual metamorphosis allows us to create the psychic space to invite the lessons of this journey in. As a parent, to the degree you are able to recognize that your children are in your life to foster a renewed sense of who you are, you will discover their potential to lead you to the discovery of your own true being.
In other words, while you may believe your most important challenge is to raise your children well, there's an even more essential task you need to attend to, which is the foundation of effective parenting. This task is to raise yourself into the most awakened and present individual you can be. The reason this is central to good parenting is that children don't need our ideas and expectations, or our dominance and control, only for us to be attuned to them with our engaged presence."
- excerpt from The Conscious Parent by Shefali Tsabary
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We are waiting with wonder and delight over who this child may be and what exactly they will add to our mix. Last night as we lay in bed, our bodies pressed close together, we laughed at the petit and wild movements of the tiny body encased between us. What a thing of beauty--to stand just on the edge of parenthood peeking over into the abyss at what may be.
Despite tail-end of pregnancy hiccups and setbacks presenting themselves, I am feeling serene and tuned in to this little creature. Perhaps he will come in his own time, in his own way. Regardless, I am looking at the long game picture and that entails a baby at my breast soon enough.
In the meantime, my hands keep busy with various mending projects that dot the surfaces of my home. Resting over nesting. The walls can wait to be washed. I am content to practice the very slow art of total un-productivity as this small body sinks deeper toward the light. I am ready.
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| Runnin' for the roses in a hundred year old Kimono. October 2018 |
Near Roseisle, MB; October 2018
Kiev 60 / Tmax 400
