Courage means to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart. – Brene Brown
Life has a funny way of repeating itself on you when you least expect it. A broken record looping itself over and over until we finally get the message that we need to move forward in life.
I woke up one day feeling a little sorry for myself and to get out of my funk I listed all of the things that I was thankful for. Flush toilets. Hot water. Washing machines. WASHING MACHINES! I lived for a year without these things in Honduras and I recognize that my life will never be as difficult as the millions of mothers around the world who spend their days in the rivers washing clothes. One hundred years ago my days would have been the same.
I am also thankful for spring.
The week before my sister gave birth, she reminded me of a flower in spring, ready to bloom but waiting patiently for the weather and timing to be just right.
Our daffodils just happened to be blooming and it seemed to be a most appropriate chair for a highly pregnant woman: soft, cushiony and luxuriously silky smooth for all of the aches and pains that come with pregnancy.
I remember at the end stage of my pregnancies that there was no position whatsoever that was comfortable. Lying down hurt. Sitting hurt. Standing hurt. I’m not sure if there is anything more difficult than to be patient in the last week of pregnancy.
Juliet did it beautifully.
falls onto my nose
and covers my toes.
I look up at the canopy overhead
from each bough
color and life bursts forth.
She is a mother, on the brink of death,
who takes her last breath
only to find
a symphony emerge
deep within her veins.
Her cancer becomes a ballet dancer.
Adorned in pink jewels, swirling in the sky,
she twirls en l’aire,
with grace and flair.
She is a my favorite grandmotherly neighbor:
Mrs. Cherry Blossom,
it’s nice to see you again.