Thursday, April 14, 2016
My Man
He lay looking out the window as I sat down by his bed.
"What is it that you're looking at?" and this is what he said.
"Look up there at those mountains, that I have ached to climb.
I just can't seem to make it, with these old broken legs of mine.
There are ragged tops a waiting, meadows in different shades of green,
The monarch elk's a bugling where the wild eagles scream.
There's a five pound lunker, swiming in a deep blue hole.
I know that I could catch him if I could carry up my pole
and turn over a rock in cold wet dirt, and gather a worm or two.
But I'm a little worn out. I've got some restin' I must do."
So he closed his eyes and I held his hand and I saw him faintly smile.
"I'll get the camp fire burning," he said "and I'll wait for you a while.
There's no need to hurry. It's okay to take your time.
I'd wait for you forever; my green eyed girl of mine."
I lied on the bed beside him. He kissed me on my cheek.
I didn't feel another breath, but I didn't need to weep.
For looking out the window, I could see this man, my love.
Climbing up that ragged mountain towards the clear blue sky above.
Susie Whiting~ 2015
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Those little Things
I didn't know. I didn't think I took things for granted but now I know I did. I think I could find all kinds of excuses for why I did, but now the excuses seem like my enemies. They have robbed me, but the valuables taken weren't missed until now...now when it's too late to get them back.
For example. I remember standing at the front room door. Danny is headed off to work and I have seven children to get fed, dressed, and off to school. There's commotion in the background and because there is, I hurry. He gives me a hug and I kiss him goodbye, but it is ritualistic. I'm angry that it was.I should have let the world stop for a moment and taken time. I should have paused to feel his hands on my waist. I should have paused and looked deeply into his eyes. I should have taken a deep breath and captured the scent of Irish Spring soap on him topped with a splash of Elsha 1776. But I was in a hurry.
Had I not been, I would have felt the crispness of his work shirt and appreciated how his Levis hung on his hips. I would have paid attention to how he brushed his moustache and how his kiss tasted like Colgate toothpaste. I would have paused and felt his arms around me and laid my head on his chest and listened to the beat of his heart.
But I was in a hurry. I didn't stay by the door and watch him walk to his truck giving his belt a little tug along the way. I didn't watch until the taillights of his truck disappeared before turning around to face my day.
I didn't know how much I would miss all those things I took for granted but oh how I do.
I hold a pillow tight and pretend just for a minute it's Danny; long enough to tell him I love him and miss all the Little things; the tiny seemingless unimportant things that together made up our life together.
If I had my life to live over again, I'd take nothing for granted for I know now how important they all are; those little things.
For example. I remember standing at the front room door. Danny is headed off to work and I have seven children to get fed, dressed, and off to school. There's commotion in the background and because there is, I hurry. He gives me a hug and I kiss him goodbye, but it is ritualistic. I'm angry that it was.I should have let the world stop for a moment and taken time. I should have paused to feel his hands on my waist. I should have paused and looked deeply into his eyes. I should have taken a deep breath and captured the scent of Irish Spring soap on him topped with a splash of Elsha 1776. But I was in a hurry.
Had I not been, I would have felt the crispness of his work shirt and appreciated how his Levis hung on his hips. I would have paid attention to how he brushed his moustache and how his kiss tasted like Colgate toothpaste. I would have paused and felt his arms around me and laid my head on his chest and listened to the beat of his heart.
But I was in a hurry. I didn't stay by the door and watch him walk to his truck giving his belt a little tug along the way. I didn't watch until the taillights of his truck disappeared before turning around to face my day.
I didn't know how much I would miss all those things I took for granted but oh how I do.
I hold a pillow tight and pretend just for a minute it's Danny; long enough to tell him I love him and miss all the Little things; the tiny seemingless unimportant things that together made up our life together.
If I had my life to live over again, I'd take nothing for granted for I know now how important they all are; those little things.
Thursday, December 24, 2015
A Letter to Danny ~ December 24, 2015
Merry Christmas Honey:
I'm sitting here watching the lights sparkle on the Christmas Tree, listening to my collection of Christmas music and missing you. Four years have passed since you left, and four years isn't enough time to get over missing you. I'm just remembering how patient you were with me when I insisted in putting up five Christmas Trees and even had lights on your old farm tractor. "What a loon," you said yet proudly showed it off to family and neighbors.
Remember, our first Christmas Album was Johnny Mathis. We listened to it over and over during the Christmas Season until I found Roger Whitaker.
I'm thinking of the few special moments honey. Moments when everyone had left on Christmas Eve; when the food had been devoured, when wrapping paper and ribbons were what was left of the hours upon hours of shopping, hiding, wrapping and displaying, when you had had one more piece of your mince meat pie, when the night was dark and quiet and it was just the two of us. There might have been a total of two hours then, two hours between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning when it would just be you and me sitting on the love seat, my leaning against you and you with your arm around my shoulders, watching the fire crackle in the fireplace. "That's craziness," you would say and I would reply "Yep," and we would go off to bed to wait until morning when we would open our own packages from each other. As I sit here right now, how I miss those two hour increments. What I wouldn't give for just two more.
I hope if I can instill anything in our children and grandchildren, it will be not to take a minute, an hour, a day, a smile, a laugh for granted. And for them not to count the importance of a day by it being a happy one. Even the worrisome, sad, the hurtful, the mad, are important. The worrisome, sad, the hurtful, the mad are those days by which they will grow. It will be the happy ones where they will gain strength to grow again by whatever means.
Johnny Mathis is singing "Let it Snow", there's no mince meat pie since it was only you who liked it. There is food to be prepared and presents to wrap for tonight, and when it is all done, I will sit and miss you; our two hours.
I love you honey. I miss you. I hope when I start to drift off to sleep tonight, in the corner of my mind I will hear you whisper. "What a loon."
Longer than the 12th of Never.
Susie.
I'm sitting here watching the lights sparkle on the Christmas Tree, listening to my collection of Christmas music and missing you. Four years have passed since you left, and four years isn't enough time to get over missing you. I'm just remembering how patient you were with me when I insisted in putting up five Christmas Trees and even had lights on your old farm tractor. "What a loon," you said yet proudly showed it off to family and neighbors.
Remember, our first Christmas Album was Johnny Mathis. We listened to it over and over during the Christmas Season until I found Roger Whitaker.
I'm thinking of the few special moments honey. Moments when everyone had left on Christmas Eve; when the food had been devoured, when wrapping paper and ribbons were what was left of the hours upon hours of shopping, hiding, wrapping and displaying, when you had had one more piece of your mince meat pie, when the night was dark and quiet and it was just the two of us. There might have been a total of two hours then, two hours between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning when it would just be you and me sitting on the love seat, my leaning against you and you with your arm around my shoulders, watching the fire crackle in the fireplace. "That's craziness," you would say and I would reply "Yep," and we would go off to bed to wait until morning when we would open our own packages from each other. As I sit here right now, how I miss those two hour increments. What I wouldn't give for just two more.
I hope if I can instill anything in our children and grandchildren, it will be not to take a minute, an hour, a day, a smile, a laugh for granted. And for them not to count the importance of a day by it being a happy one. Even the worrisome, sad, the hurtful, the mad, are important. The worrisome, sad, the hurtful, the mad are those days by which they will grow. It will be the happy ones where they will gain strength to grow again by whatever means.
Johnny Mathis is singing "Let it Snow", there's no mince meat pie since it was only you who liked it. There is food to be prepared and presents to wrap for tonight, and when it is all done, I will sit and miss you; our two hours.
I love you honey. I miss you. I hope when I start to drift off to sleep tonight, in the corner of my mind I will hear you whisper. "What a loon."
Longer than the 12th of Never.
Susie.
Friday, October 30, 2015
Fallen Angel
He chose to walk into the darkness
As the storm blew in his face.
The road he chose to travel
Lead him to a darker place.
He forgot who he once was.
Along the way he was misplaced.
The stranger in the mirror
Owned a stranger's face.
His heart was beat, abandoned
When the demons took control,
But the heavens heard his cries
As he quarreled with his soul.
And it's someplace in the distance
I now see him smile and hear him sing.
I know my son is happy.
My fallen Angel has his wings.
As the storm blew in his face.
The road he chose to travel
Lead him to a darker place.
He forgot who he once was.
Along the way he was misplaced.
The stranger in the mirror
Owned a stranger's face.
His heart was beat, abandoned
When the demons took control,
But the heavens heard his cries
As he quarreled with his soul.
And it's someplace in the distance
I now see him smile and hear him sing.
I know my son is happy.
My fallen Angel has his wings.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Daren's Letter- October 11, 2015
Hello Sweetheart:
I can't believe it's 2015. When you died, I thought life would end or at least stand still. I couldn't possibly see how it could go on without you in it. But guess what honey? It does and it has dragged me along with it.
You know sweetheart, your addiction was such a demon in both of our lives. I know how much you struggled and you knew how much I did. Unfortunately, it was stronger than the both of us put together. That is what addiction is. It is a strong, unrelenting force that doesn't care about the addict or about those who love him. Yes, my darling boy. You were an addict but...I wonder.
You have six siblings and between you all, there are twenty-four children. Those thirty people watched what you went through. They were there on the sidelines watching, wondering, hurting, being frustrated. They saw you fight and they saw you lose. But as I laid in my bed thinking about you again last night, I realized something once again. You were a teacher. There on that stage of addiction, you were teaching those other thirty people about it. You were teaching them that it could deprive you of all you hold dearest; your family, your true friends, your dreams, your hopes, your future and eventually, your life. They stood there watching and your lessons seeped into them. And because you taught; because they learned, they will not go down that road. You were their teacher, and you were their savior. Thank you darling.
I don't know about this life. That is the truth. Everyone has their beliefs, but no one really knows what this life is about. As I ponder, I can't help but feel that whatever road we are on in this life, is one we chose to travel on before we came. I think that road has exits, but I think even when those exits are taken, somehow, someway we manage to get back on the road we were meant to be on, to learn those lessons we were meant to learn. And with that belief, I think of you. Was the road you traveled the one you chose in the pre-existence to travel on? Was it not happenstance? Was that hard and rocky and muddy road you walked one you chose to walk so you could be a teacher? Are the homeless, the broken, the drunken, the lost actually teachers also. Should we all take a step back and look not with our eyes, but with our souls and see what the lesson is we should be learning from them. For there surely is one. Is that why we should not be judgmental, because if we are, it makes us unable to see what lies beneath those teachers. It makes us unable to learn.
Your addiction was not the total of the man you were my darling boy. You were amazing. You were kind, caring, helpful, giving, loving and one of the funniest people I have ever known. Your sense of humor made many of my days much brighter. No my son. Your addiciton was the part of you that would help guide your own sons and the children of your siblings away from that that tortured you.
As I sit here, not quite two years since you left me, I am overwhelmed with love and gratitude. I thank my God that you were mine. I thank my God that I got the whole package that was my son.
I love you Sweetheart and miss you every day.
Mom
I can't believe it's 2015. When you died, I thought life would end or at least stand still. I couldn't possibly see how it could go on without you in it. But guess what honey? It does and it has dragged me along with it.
You know sweetheart, your addiction was such a demon in both of our lives. I know how much you struggled and you knew how much I did. Unfortunately, it was stronger than the both of us put together. That is what addiction is. It is a strong, unrelenting force that doesn't care about the addict or about those who love him. Yes, my darling boy. You were an addict but...I wonder.
You have six siblings and between you all, there are twenty-four children. Those thirty people watched what you went through. They were there on the sidelines watching, wondering, hurting, being frustrated. They saw you fight and they saw you lose. But as I laid in my bed thinking about you again last night, I realized something once again. You were a teacher. There on that stage of addiction, you were teaching those other thirty people about it. You were teaching them that it could deprive you of all you hold dearest; your family, your true friends, your dreams, your hopes, your future and eventually, your life. They stood there watching and your lessons seeped into them. And because you taught; because they learned, they will not go down that road. You were their teacher, and you were their savior. Thank you darling.
I don't know about this life. That is the truth. Everyone has their beliefs, but no one really knows what this life is about. As I ponder, I can't help but feel that whatever road we are on in this life, is one we chose to travel on before we came. I think that road has exits, but I think even when those exits are taken, somehow, someway we manage to get back on the road we were meant to be on, to learn those lessons we were meant to learn. And with that belief, I think of you. Was the road you traveled the one you chose in the pre-existence to travel on? Was it not happenstance? Was that hard and rocky and muddy road you walked one you chose to walk so you could be a teacher? Are the homeless, the broken, the drunken, the lost actually teachers also. Should we all take a step back and look not with our eyes, but with our souls and see what the lesson is we should be learning from them. For there surely is one. Is that why we should not be judgmental, because if we are, it makes us unable to see what lies beneath those teachers. It makes us unable to learn.
Your addiction was not the total of the man you were my darling boy. You were amazing. You were kind, caring, helpful, giving, loving and one of the funniest people I have ever known. Your sense of humor made many of my days much brighter. No my son. Your addiciton was the part of you that would help guide your own sons and the children of your siblings away from that that tortured you.
As I sit here, not quite two years since you left me, I am overwhelmed with love and gratitude. I thank my God that you were mine. I thank my God that I got the whole package that was my son.
I love you Sweetheart and miss you every day.
Mom
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Happy Birthday Robert
It amazes me how people, complete strangers, come into your life, snuggle in and claim a place. So it was with you. I didn't know back in the 80's there was tall, skinny, lanky redheaded guy waiting on the horizon of my life waiting for the time to come in, and claim his place in my own life and in my heart. But there you waited and when the time was right, you met my daughter, and loved her and married her, probably not knowing how true it is that you weren't just getting her, you were getting her whole family, good and bad.
Back then, you lived in your little apartment you shared, drove your little blue car, and wore those god-awful little shorts some men wore back in the 80's, with white crew socks pulled up your calf. I'm sorry sweetheart, but you did not make a fashion statement. You and Shannon started going together and you both shared in each other's lives. I remember her going to work with you as you cleaned floors at a supermarket at night and how you worked together at the Chevron Station on center street. You quickly became a part of the Whiting's crazy family get-togethers and from that point on would always participate. I remember one Christmas Eve in Provo, as I was out getting things ready for our annual Christmas Eve party, I came home to find you had cleaned my house for me; scrubbed the kitchen floor and everything. That was the BEST Christmas gift in the world.
I'm recalling little things today, like sitting in the Fox theater with you and Shannon watching Superman. Why have I bookmarked that little point in my life?
When you came into our family, you inherited Whiting traits. It was then you found out how much you loved to fish, camp and hunt. You would spend a lot of time with us in the mountains and would grow to love these things like we did. I remember being with you and Danny as we road-hunted up Schofield Canyon.
You stepped into our family and stepped up to the plate, not only in the good times, but also when things were pretty tough. You stood out on our driveway with Mark, both of you holding baseball bats ready to take on some pretty tough guys who were out to get Daren. You and Shannon were a wonderful support for me when Danny suffered his "great depression". I always knew if I needed you, you would be there. There were many times I called. There were many times you came.
Along with your great traits there were also some not so great. You were the most accident prone person I had ever seen in my life. It was as if you saw an opportunity for an accident and ran over and inserted yourself in it. One day as I watched out my kitchen window, I saw you get on your horse. Instantly, I knew an accident was about to happen. Sure enough, your horse reared up, you fell off the back and it fell on top of you. It was amazing you walked away with only a broken wrist. Then there was the time you put your finger in the cement mixer. Not one of your better choices. I made certain to keep our Worker's Compensation Insurance in place. I knew if I happened to let it lapse, you would get hurt.
You went to work for us when Danny started installing cable television lines in Park City. Part of the job included making certain when we left a job site, it was in as good or better condition as it was before we went on the property. Danny could count on you to see that done. You were a perfectionist in so many ways. Later, you worked for us in installing natural gas pipe lines. You were always a dependable worker. When we would have our company parties up the canyons, you were always there helping out.
I was a lucky mother-in-law. I got to be in the delivery room with you when Shannon delivered your three little girls via Cesarean. Oh how funny it was when she gave birth to Ashley. At first you were there gently rubbing her forehead. As the procedure proceeded, your gentle rubbing became a pat. Pretty soon Shannon called out "Mom-m-m-m". I looked down to see you pounding on her head. I reached over and took hold your nervous hand. Shannon made certain I was there with you when Katie and Kacee were born. How you loved your three beautiful little girls. There was never a question of that. They were your pride and joy.
The road of life is strange. You think you all on the right one and that you have your convoy of people following behind when suddenly one takes an exit and you find the journey not the same anymore. When two people start bringing out the worst in each other instead of the best, it is time to take an exit. You and Shannon divorced. I may not have liked your actions sweetheart, but I always loved you.
In "Life According to Susie", I don't believe God decides you've lived long enough and decides its time for you to die. I believe before we came to this earth, we knew what we were coming for; that it was us, not God that decided what path we would take, what our purpose would be and ultimately the time we would exit this life. I believe, the God I believe in is there loving me and supporting my decisions and hearing me cry out for help and helping me with conditions. If for instance, my life's purpose was to learn compassion for the poor and so I decide to come to live life being poor; that is my decision. I come into life with that purpose. If however, down the road, I find that struggling paycheck to paycheck is too hard, or being without is too hard or various other "too hard" things and I cry out to God to help me by winning the lottery, God will not answer my prayer the way I want it because it will go against what my original purpose of life was for. The God I believe in is always there to love me and help me as long as what I ask doesn't go against my life purpose. I don't believe it is God that decides when we will die. I believe we decide that before we are ever born. I believe you decided when you would leave this earth. I believe Danny decided when he would and that Daren decided when he would. I don't believe that on 9/11 God spared me and my family when he didn't spare all the others that died that day. That would, it seems to me, be a cruel God. My God isn't cruel. I believe it wasn't our time to exit this life yet.
I don't believe that when my own dad chose to exit this life when I was nine years old, that he didn't love me enough to stay. It was simply the time he had already decided upon as his exit point. He had fulfilled whatever his life purpose was. I believe Danny and Daren chose to leave when they did. They had fulfilled their life purpose and had decided upon that time as their exit point. And I believe my dear one that you chose the day you left because you had fulfilled your life purpose. I could get upset with you. I could rail against you and ask why you were so selfish as to leave your beautiful girls. Why you would leave them with the pain, guilt, hurt, that you left them with. But the truth is. I don't know. I don't know what you had decided to learn when you came to this earth. I don't know if you stayed longer, if it would have caused more harm than good in the overall scheme of things. It would be silly for me to speculate that I know or understand more about you and your life than you do. So my dear one, I accept your decision. I accept you knew what was best for you and in the long run for your girls. But your passing like with everyone's has left pain. But it has only left pain because you were loved. And you were only loved, because you loved.
Happy Birthday Robert. I'm so glad you were born. I'm so glad that when you painted your life, you included this old woman in it. I'm so glad that the last words I said to you, were "I love you." I bet there aren't many men who can say they had their mother-in-law; their ex mother-in-law at that, speak at their funeral. Oh wait a minute. You didn't get a choice in that. Did you? Too bad! Bad planning on your part.
I hope wherever you are at today (and I believe it is somewhere pretty spectacular) you are sitting at a lake's edge or along a river bank with Danny and Daren, fishing pole in hand with a rib steak ready to go on the grill.
I love you dearly.
From your mom by choice.
Susie
Back then, you lived in your little apartment you shared, drove your little blue car, and wore those god-awful little shorts some men wore back in the 80's, with white crew socks pulled up your calf. I'm sorry sweetheart, but you did not make a fashion statement. You and Shannon started going together and you both shared in each other's lives. I remember her going to work with you as you cleaned floors at a supermarket at night and how you worked together at the Chevron Station on center street. You quickly became a part of the Whiting's crazy family get-togethers and from that point on would always participate. I remember one Christmas Eve in Provo, as I was out getting things ready for our annual Christmas Eve party, I came home to find you had cleaned my house for me; scrubbed the kitchen floor and everything. That was the BEST Christmas gift in the world.
I'm recalling little things today, like sitting in the Fox theater with you and Shannon watching Superman. Why have I bookmarked that little point in my life?
When you came into our family, you inherited Whiting traits. It was then you found out how much you loved to fish, camp and hunt. You would spend a lot of time with us in the mountains and would grow to love these things like we did. I remember being with you and Danny as we road-hunted up Schofield Canyon.
You stepped into our family and stepped up to the plate, not only in the good times, but also when things were pretty tough. You stood out on our driveway with Mark, both of you holding baseball bats ready to take on some pretty tough guys who were out to get Daren. You and Shannon were a wonderful support for me when Danny suffered his "great depression". I always knew if I needed you, you would be there. There were many times I called. There were many times you came.
Along with your great traits there were also some not so great. You were the most accident prone person I had ever seen in my life. It was as if you saw an opportunity for an accident and ran over and inserted yourself in it. One day as I watched out my kitchen window, I saw you get on your horse. Instantly, I knew an accident was about to happen. Sure enough, your horse reared up, you fell off the back and it fell on top of you. It was amazing you walked away with only a broken wrist. Then there was the time you put your finger in the cement mixer. Not one of your better choices. I made certain to keep our Worker's Compensation Insurance in place. I knew if I happened to let it lapse, you would get hurt.
You went to work for us when Danny started installing cable television lines in Park City. Part of the job included making certain when we left a job site, it was in as good or better condition as it was before we went on the property. Danny could count on you to see that done. You were a perfectionist in so many ways. Later, you worked for us in installing natural gas pipe lines. You were always a dependable worker. When we would have our company parties up the canyons, you were always there helping out.
I was a lucky mother-in-law. I got to be in the delivery room with you when Shannon delivered your three little girls via Cesarean. Oh how funny it was when she gave birth to Ashley. At first you were there gently rubbing her forehead. As the procedure proceeded, your gentle rubbing became a pat. Pretty soon Shannon called out "Mom-m-m-m". I looked down to see you pounding on her head. I reached over and took hold your nervous hand. Shannon made certain I was there with you when Katie and Kacee were born. How you loved your three beautiful little girls. There was never a question of that. They were your pride and joy.
The road of life is strange. You think you all on the right one and that you have your convoy of people following behind when suddenly one takes an exit and you find the journey not the same anymore. When two people start bringing out the worst in each other instead of the best, it is time to take an exit. You and Shannon divorced. I may not have liked your actions sweetheart, but I always loved you.
In "Life According to Susie", I don't believe God decides you've lived long enough and decides its time for you to die. I believe before we came to this earth, we knew what we were coming for; that it was us, not God that decided what path we would take, what our purpose would be and ultimately the time we would exit this life. I believe, the God I believe in is there loving me and supporting my decisions and hearing me cry out for help and helping me with conditions. If for instance, my life's purpose was to learn compassion for the poor and so I decide to come to live life being poor; that is my decision. I come into life with that purpose. If however, down the road, I find that struggling paycheck to paycheck is too hard, or being without is too hard or various other "too hard" things and I cry out to God to help me by winning the lottery, God will not answer my prayer the way I want it because it will go against what my original purpose of life was for. The God I believe in is always there to love me and help me as long as what I ask doesn't go against my life purpose. I don't believe it is God that decides when we will die. I believe we decide that before we are ever born. I believe you decided when you would leave this earth. I believe Danny decided when he would and that Daren decided when he would. I don't believe that on 9/11 God spared me and my family when he didn't spare all the others that died that day. That would, it seems to me, be a cruel God. My God isn't cruel. I believe it wasn't our time to exit this life yet.
I don't believe that when my own dad chose to exit this life when I was nine years old, that he didn't love me enough to stay. It was simply the time he had already decided upon as his exit point. He had fulfilled whatever his life purpose was. I believe Danny and Daren chose to leave when they did. They had fulfilled their life purpose and had decided upon that time as their exit point. And I believe my dear one that you chose the day you left because you had fulfilled your life purpose. I could get upset with you. I could rail against you and ask why you were so selfish as to leave your beautiful girls. Why you would leave them with the pain, guilt, hurt, that you left them with. But the truth is. I don't know. I don't know what you had decided to learn when you came to this earth. I don't know if you stayed longer, if it would have caused more harm than good in the overall scheme of things. It would be silly for me to speculate that I know or understand more about you and your life than you do. So my dear one, I accept your decision. I accept you knew what was best for you and in the long run for your girls. But your passing like with everyone's has left pain. But it has only left pain because you were loved. And you were only loved, because you loved.
Happy Birthday Robert. I'm so glad you were born. I'm so glad that when you painted your life, you included this old woman in it. I'm so glad that the last words I said to you, were "I love you." I bet there aren't many men who can say they had their mother-in-law; their ex mother-in-law at that, speak at their funeral. Oh wait a minute. You didn't get a choice in that. Did you? Too bad! Bad planning on your part.
I hope wherever you are at today (and I believe it is somewhere pretty spectacular) you are sitting at a lake's edge or along a river bank with Danny and Daren, fishing pole in hand with a rib steak ready to go on the grill.
I love you dearly.
From your mom by choice.
Susie
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Motherhood
She looks into the face of her newborn baby. She doesn't see the wrinkled skin, the nose somewhat flattened and perhaps the head a little misshapen from the journey into this world. No. She sees the most beautiful baby in the world.
Lost in a special part of her mind that is governed by her heart are the times morning sickness forced her to pay homage to a porcelain god, the protruding stomach, swollen feet, stretch marks and the walk of a duck. They were just hurdles along the path leading to this precious gift she now holds in her arms. Hurdles that would sleep until once again awakened to appear along another path to motherhood.
She will sing lullabies, and in the dark of night listen for the gentle sound of breathing and thank her god when she hears the steady rhythm. She will laugh over a bowl of carrots on top of the head and a little face covered with birthday cake. She will cry over a fevered brow and a skinned knee, being careful that this precious one she loves will be oblivious to her tears.
Her hand will reach out to aid the first step which will one day lead along a path that will end at the school door. She will feel the small hand slip from hers as she relinquishes her care to that of another and as she turns, the tears will come again.
How she waited impatiently for the tiny sound of "ma ma" to come from the lips of this precious spirit placed in her charge...and then it came.
"Mama. I need a drink of water."
"Mama. There's a monster under my bed."
"Mama. I'm hungry."
"Mama. I don't know how I got gum in my hair."
She will participate in car pools, be a room mother, bake cookies, bandage knees and other skinned places, teach fingers do not belong in noses, and to be kind to friends. She will explain that missing teeth do not make a child ugly regardless of the little boy down the street calling you a jack-o-lantern. She will teach A-B-C's and 1-2-3's and "Itsy Bitsy Spider." And when the long day has come to an end, she will kneel beside the bed and teach her child to pray.
She assures her young girl that no, she is not ugly, she is not too tall, too short, or too fat or too thin. Yes. She too had blemishes and yes, they eventually will go away. She explains that clothes, the makeup, the house one lives in, or the car they drive is not as important as they seem right now. That someday, the cheerleaders will also have babies that need diapers changed.
The sound of "ma-ma" rings in her ears.
"Mom. I need a new dress."
"Mom. I need a ride to the mall."
"Mom. Did you get my gym suit washed?
"Mom. I"m hungry. What's for dinner?"
"Mom. I did have my homework done. I don't know what the teacher is talking about."
"Mom. Can I take the car?"
Her heart stops for a moment as she places the keys in the hand that she held and supported through the first steps.
She watches headlights shine through the window and with each set that doesn't pull into the driveway, she prays for the safety of this one she loves. And when the lights finally pull in and the car shuts off, she sighs and smiles and prays a silent "Thank You." She now will sleep.
Lost in the part of her mind, governed by her heart, she will forget the nights without sleep, the roll of tissue floating in the toilet, the bangs cut clear to the scalp, the mud tracked on the carpet, the dented fender and her cashmere sweater loaned to a friend. These are just the hurdles of motherhood, tucked away to sometime reappear as memories that will bring the smiles. And the sound of "ma-ma" rings in her ears again.
"Mama. He loves me."
"Mama. He wants to marry me."
"Mama. I'm going to have a baby."
And the tears come.
She watches her daughter paying homage to a porcelain god. Her stomach is starting to protrude. Her feet are swelling. Is that a walk of a duck?
The time comes. She watches her daughter locked in the pain of motherhood and wishes she could take the burden on for her, but knowing that she can't reaches down and kisses the forehead of this special spirit that she loves so much. Her daughter reaches up and takes her hand and holds on tight realizing how many times she has depended upon those hands. She looks into the eyes of her mother and understands.
And the tears come.
Lost in a special part of her mind that is governed by her heart are the times morning sickness forced her to pay homage to a porcelain god, the protruding stomach, swollen feet, stretch marks and the walk of a duck. They were just hurdles along the path leading to this precious gift she now holds in her arms. Hurdles that would sleep until once again awakened to appear along another path to motherhood.
She will sing lullabies, and in the dark of night listen for the gentle sound of breathing and thank her god when she hears the steady rhythm. She will laugh over a bowl of carrots on top of the head and a little face covered with birthday cake. She will cry over a fevered brow and a skinned knee, being careful that this precious one she loves will be oblivious to her tears.
Her hand will reach out to aid the first step which will one day lead along a path that will end at the school door. She will feel the small hand slip from hers as she relinquishes her care to that of another and as she turns, the tears will come again.
How she waited impatiently for the tiny sound of "ma ma" to come from the lips of this precious spirit placed in her charge...and then it came.
"Mama. I need a drink of water."
"Mama. There's a monster under my bed."
"Mama. I'm hungry."
"Mama. I don't know how I got gum in my hair."
She will participate in car pools, be a room mother, bake cookies, bandage knees and other skinned places, teach fingers do not belong in noses, and to be kind to friends. She will explain that missing teeth do not make a child ugly regardless of the little boy down the street calling you a jack-o-lantern. She will teach A-B-C's and 1-2-3's and "Itsy Bitsy Spider." And when the long day has come to an end, she will kneel beside the bed and teach her child to pray.
She assures her young girl that no, she is not ugly, she is not too tall, too short, or too fat or too thin. Yes. She too had blemishes and yes, they eventually will go away. She explains that clothes, the makeup, the house one lives in, or the car they drive is not as important as they seem right now. That someday, the cheerleaders will also have babies that need diapers changed.
The sound of "ma-ma" rings in her ears.
"Mom. I need a new dress."
"Mom. I need a ride to the mall."
"Mom. Did you get my gym suit washed?
"Mom. I"m hungry. What's for dinner?"
"Mom. I did have my homework done. I don't know what the teacher is talking about."
"Mom. Can I take the car?"
Her heart stops for a moment as she places the keys in the hand that she held and supported through the first steps.
She watches headlights shine through the window and with each set that doesn't pull into the driveway, she prays for the safety of this one she loves. And when the lights finally pull in and the car shuts off, she sighs and smiles and prays a silent "Thank You." She now will sleep.
Lost in the part of her mind, governed by her heart, she will forget the nights without sleep, the roll of tissue floating in the toilet, the bangs cut clear to the scalp, the mud tracked on the carpet, the dented fender and her cashmere sweater loaned to a friend. These are just the hurdles of motherhood, tucked away to sometime reappear as memories that will bring the smiles. And the sound of "ma-ma" rings in her ears again.
"Mama. He loves me."
"Mama. He wants to marry me."
"Mama. I'm going to have a baby."
And the tears come.
She watches her daughter paying homage to a porcelain god. Her stomach is starting to protrude. Her feet are swelling. Is that a walk of a duck?
The time comes. She watches her daughter locked in the pain of motherhood and wishes she could take the burden on for her, but knowing that she can't reaches down and kisses the forehead of this special spirit that she loves so much. Her daughter reaches up and takes her hand and holds on tight realizing how many times she has depended upon those hands. She looks into the eyes of her mother and understands.
And the tears come.
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