at the edge...

gearhart, oregon . august 11, 2010

a few weeks ago, i mentioned that i spent time standing alone at the edge of the ocean, releasing some things out into the world. the following poem note of sorts is a glimpse into that experience. all lines of poetry mentioned in this post are from mary oliver's collection of poetry in Red Bird.

*****

I stood at the edge of the push and the pull, my feet sinking in the wet sand, my heart’s strings attempting to weave together so that they did not lose their grip, so I would not lose my grip.

I stood at the edge as the rain wound her way from the grey to the strands of my hair, pooling in my turned up cuffs.

I stood at the edge and opened a way to navigate this path disguised as a book of poetry.

I stood at the edge and read…

 

“Let the world

have its way with you…”*

 

As the rain wound her way from the grey to fuse with the crashing and the pushing and the pulling, I stood alone at the edge with salt water winding its way from my eyes to merge with the pools of water beneath, on, around me, and I stood watching or was it feeling the crashing and the pushing and the pulling. I stood watching and began to wonder if the strings holding my heart, me, were disentangling with each breath filled with fear. I stood at the edge and began to read aloud…

 

“…there is

always grief more than enough,

a heart-load for each of us

on the dusty road…”**

 

As the rain wound her way from the grey to my lowered, rounded self, my voice began to duel with the crashing and the pulling until the rhythm began a dance with the fear and the hope. The water dripped across the page, pooling at the center as I stood at the edge of the pushing and the pulling until these words became my repeated rhythm…

 

“…put your lips to the world.

And live,

your life.”***

 

I stood at the edge, my heart’s strings weaving the spaces between each crack as the rain raced toward the center, my eyes stinging with the salt and the fear and all that I hoped would not be. I stood at the edge of the push and the pull and the crashing of all that is not supposed to be and heard you…

 

“…and this is why I have been sent, to teach this to your heart.”****

 

My eyes blurred with the truth and the fear and the hope as I stood at the edge of the crashing and pushing and pulling. As the rain pooled around me, inside me, I stood at the edge as her words found their way to the cracks, and I began to speak aloud the prayer said by so many (by all) before me…

 

Please

Please

Please

*from “Summer Morning”

**from “Ocean”

***from “Mornings at Blackwater”

****from “Red Bird Explains Himself”

i thought about...

 

i thought about running away today
just for a second
less than a second really
i thought about running away
from the fear
and the "what is ahead on the path"
but then i remembered her words
you are so strong. even if you are feeling not so strong and brave, you really are.
i remembered her words
and i knew: this is where i was meant to be
in this moment,
even while the fear whispers around me,
i am certain of this truth

(thank you for being a light on my path)

all you need...

what is real, september 2

when i walked up to my grandmother and stared at her, willing her to breathe, i felt my heart break. and in that moment, i thought "this is what it means to love." holding ellie tonight, watching her chest move up and down, knowing that a surgeon i have not yet met will more than likely be cracking that chest open in a few weeks, that phrase kept turning around in my mind. the idea of a piece of one's heart breaking off being what forces us to understand what love really is. i have been singing that last few lines of "all you need is love" over and over these last few weeks. you know that part when paul, or is it john, repeats "love is all you need. love is all you need." and someone sings, "she loves you, yeah yeah yeah..." and i think there is a yee-haw involved. i have always loved that last part as it feels so impromptu, like the boys were just having fun. yes. love is all you need. and i don't mean it in a simple rose-colored glasses way. no. i mean it in a standing in front of your grandmother in a funeral home and realizing she loved you and you loved her in an imperfect beautiful and i am going to miss you every day for the rest of my life sort of way. i mean it in a holding the space for a friend while she shares her story and then saying, "what do you need in this moment?" sort of way. i mean it in a reaching for your partner's hand in the middle of the night after you had such a horrible fight sort of way. i mean it in a watching your child breathe and knowing you don't want to be anywhere else sort of way. i mean it in a hearing your golden retriever sigh after a long good day of simple living sort of way. i mean it in a standing face to face with yourself and looking in the mirror and choosing a soft gaze of acceptance sort of way. yes. as you walk on your path and hope upon hope that you will find your way. as you stand in this moment and think about what you know to be true. i believe that the one thing we need to carry in the pocket of our heart is the trust and faith and grace that is love. the guts of life. yes. this is what love is. love for ourselves. for the ones who rest inside our hearts. for all of it.

*****

for the last few days, i have been trying out 750words.com. a space to write "morning pages" of sorts. i kind of love it. the above was a paragraph of freewriting i did tonight and i decided to just share it here. because it is how things are in this moment in my corner of it all...

on this realness

i am drowning a bit at times. and i don't really swim well. i have a big fear of deep water, and if my head goes under, i try to take a deep breath. figures doesn't it? the person who invites others to breathe deeply would try to breathe under water (remember my earth mermaid wishes?)...

today, i am seeking the life raft that i have been finding in this space for almost five years. today, i am seeking the knowledge that i am being heard by someone who just wants to listen and not offer advice or "things will get better" or "just be positive" platitudes. someone who will just hold the space. (and i know this is so hard for us to do for one another. we want to fix. oh how we want to fix. we want to help. i know this. i am thankful for this. but sometimes someone holding the space is all a person really needs.)

today, i am honoring what is real in this journey we are on. i am trying to honor the truths and the beauty and the love and the fears and the shit. 

the thing is, when i look at this face and it cracks into a smile, i either forget just for a second that she is battling so much or another piece of my heart breaks off to float away. perhaps these pieces are gathering near the drain inside the space around my heart i create with each breath. i think somehow because she is such an easygoing happy baby most of the time, it feels like complaining to tell you the real stuff of how our days have been since she arrived. and just like i didn't share many details of my very difficult "high risk" pregnancy because i didn't want to seem like i was complaining, i have avoided sharing many of the details about these last few weeks. 

but, after yet another doctor's appointment, i just have to come to this space and be myself. the what is real me.

so here it is: ellie was born with a congenital heart defect. it sure does sound so very scary when you type it out like that. on one hand, just like with my "high-risk pregnancy," it could be worse. on another, it isn't a walk in the park. the "defect" is a murmur that could require surgery (of the open heart variety). at two weeks, we began our cardiology appointments. we knew what symptoms to watch for and at around five weeks, we began to see them. when we took her in, we learned that she actually was experiencing symptoms from a second issue. a "this could happen at any time to anyone at any age" heart rhythm issue that just happened to happen to our little one. this was what sent us to the PICU at five weeks. now that medication is helping, that secondary problem is (at least in this moment) pretty much under control and something that she will "out grow." at about eight weeks though (almost two weeks ago), we began to see symptoms of the murmur. 

so we are in a limbo place today. hoping she gains weight so she can nicely but firmly tell her heart to just do what it is supposed to do. giving her so many doses of medication each day we are trying to avoid our heads just spinning with it all. knowing she really might need surgery this fall. surgery. of the open heart variety. how does a mama even breathe thinking about her so new to this world little one having surgery. how does a couple even breathe when thinking about the piling medical bills and the fears and medicines and all of it and and and...

and yes indeed, i know, you just move through it. you just keep going.

having a child is like handing another human being a piece of your heart. because that is what love is. love for a child, a grandparent, a pet, a home. we sprinkle pieces of our hearts as we live. yes. this is what living is. this is what loving is.

we say in our own ways, with pieces of our hearts gathered in our extended hands:

i stand before you.
here.
(this is love.)

*****

tonight, after i wrote the previous paragraphs, i held a sleeping babe and felt this love and reminded myself yet again of the answer when i think about the question, "how will we do this?"

the answer is: we will live it.

we will live it.

*****

because i am so tender right now. because i have been holding it together for months. because everyone around me is quietly waiting for the "one thing" to be the "one thing" that pushes me over the edge and they will watch the roots keeping me grounded into this earth suddenly sprout wings as i float out of my body. because i need to just be heard...i quietly ask that you hold the space here more than share the stories of a friend of a friend who had this and was okay or not okay. i hope you understand what i mean by that. it isn't that i don't want your virtual hugs because those hugs (through your words) and prayers are the very reason i am sharing these words. i am being as positive as possible in almost every moment. i am holding onto hope. i am i am...but this is also very real and our journey has an outcome we do not yet know. 

and this is the phrase that comes to me (perhaps it comes to you too sometimes when you write in your space), i just need to come here and be seen. maybe it is the very writing of pieces of it all that will remind me that i see me. that i can hold the space for myself. yes. perhaps this is the truth i needed to find in this moment. perhaps i can give myself the gift of holding the space of all the feelings and letting them just be real and valid and part of it...part of me. maybe i can just let the feelings sit in the room and just be. 

it is okay.

we will live it.

(thank you for listening.)

truth.

A few weeks ago, I shared a bit about our "welcome to this world ellie jane" ceremony. Jon read her the book Blueberry Girl by Neil Gaiman, and I read her the poem "My Daughter Asleep" from the book River Flow: New & Selected Poems 1984-2007 by David Whyte.

When I read her this poem seven and a half weeks ago, it was like a wish I wanted to whisper to her and all that surrounds her now and in each moment to come.

But now, on this day, when I read this poem aloud, it became this parent's holding-on-by-her-fingertips truth, in the disguise of a poem by David Whyte.

May the universe hear me speak the words of this poem and hear them as my truth. And hold us in her gentle arms...

(To hear me read this poem, click on "a poem for a friday" below. Visit David Whyte's site to learn more about him and read more of his words.)

a poem for this friday