Awake to thunder
The alarm and the thunderstorm conspired me awake. Can't listen to NPR, with the tragedies of Amish schoolgirls, and hypocrisy of the Republicans, so I'll concentrate on the raindrops splashing on the crab apple leaves, the brakes whining gears grinding of the school bus. Praying, like an apologetic supplicant: I know you're busy right now, but if you could...my parents... What can we ask for in this life? Another day. That seems so paltry. What else? Feelings of release and understanding, instead of binds and confusion.
At least, in the scheme of things, we are never really alone. My siblings are more important to me now then ever in my life. Any bad thing I have ever thought about them seems so meaningless in the vast schematic. I can take great solace that my kids are finally showing signs of recognizing their value to each other. To think that one of my prayers (so graciously answered) was that David not be an only child. I love that Katie goes over there for a dinner party. I love that she and Chrissy cry and don't want to let go when she leaves Kalamazoo. I can take comfort in one of life's greatest riches, my family.
It seems that this past year has been a reminder to not take any of this for granted. In all illness, from Katie's mono, to Mom's heart, to my cough, and all the little colds in between, there is the potential to renew that bond with life, that passion for little pleasures, the healing of the spirit, the recognition of what is precious. Is this what you take with you when you go? The softness of a daughter's cheek against your own, the belly laugh from the shared absurdity, the odors of garlic and apples, the lightening strike of conception, the tears of empathy, the deep roll of thunder down the bowling alley of your heart.
At least, in the scheme of things, we are never really alone. My siblings are more important to me now then ever in my life. Any bad thing I have ever thought about them seems so meaningless in the vast schematic. I can take great solace that my kids are finally showing signs of recognizing their value to each other. To think that one of my prayers (so graciously answered) was that David not be an only child. I love that Katie goes over there for a dinner party. I love that she and Chrissy cry and don't want to let go when she leaves Kalamazoo. I can take comfort in one of life's greatest riches, my family.
It seems that this past year has been a reminder to not take any of this for granted. In all illness, from Katie's mono, to Mom's heart, to my cough, and all the little colds in between, there is the potential to renew that bond with life, that passion for little pleasures, the healing of the spirit, the recognition of what is precious. Is this what you take with you when you go? The softness of a daughter's cheek against your own, the belly laugh from the shared absurdity, the odors of garlic and apples, the lightening strike of conception, the tears of empathy, the deep roll of thunder down the bowling alley of your heart.