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Last Night, June 7, 2012
The inky blue sky has finally put the sun to sleep.
My Boy asks, "Is it nighttime, Mom? Is the sun asleep?"
The natural cycle of life takes over as my children yawn and rub their eyes. Our feet skim across the cool blanket of grass on the path leading to our front door. Little bugs flutter around, circling the porch light.
Lying in their beds, I sing them their songs, rub their backs and kiss their necks as that same inky blue sky spreads across their eyelids and they fall deeply into the Land of Nod.
I'm enchanted by their hands, arms, legs, by the scent of their skin and especially by the miracle of their being.
Summer is in full swing. And our days are filled with "summer of nothing" activities; a few morning chores, popsicles and pb & J sandwiches and diving into fresh pools of water. Yesterday, the neighborhood girls descended on my 3 year-old son. When he emerged from their room he was the vision of a dainty little lady! Painted nails, pony-tail and a bow, a sundress, mascara and a crystal magical moon necklace.
While fluttering his eyes, my Boy explains, "Mom, when you wear this necklace you turn into a mermaid."
Abruptly, he jumped off the coffee table and flailed around, thrashing in an imaginary turbulent ocean, locked in mortal combat with a shark! Mermaids always win.
Fluttering in my belly; a sure sign of life.
Barely pregnant, I stand in a sea of runners, listening for the gun shot that marks the beginning of a race. Reaching for my toes, stretching the backs of my legs and checking for a double-knot in my laces.
The beginning of a distance race is filled with butterflies, heavy breathing and runners shuffling, jockeying for their place. My legs lengthen, finding their stride, rounding corners and heading up hills. The movement of my arms propelling me forward.
I feel the brawn of my Boy growing inside me and finish the race with a personal best and a 3rd place metal. Drinking in the cool shade of a tree, I lie down, waiting for the award ceremony. Flat on my back, peeking through the leaves to the bluest sky, my hand wanders to my belly. So thankful for the gift of strength. So thankful for a healthy body that can build a baby. Magically, it knows what to do. Turning my food and oxygen into the fuel that creates life.
Red stand-up braids...check. Freckles...check. Mis-matched and patched socks...check. Sassy attitude...check. I'm adding the finishing touches on our daughter's Pippi Longstocking costume.
Halloween is a few days away and tonight is the big neighborhood party. She's been dying to go, dressed as the free-spirited daughter of a buccaneer captain and mischievous child who avoids traditional education.
My kiss lingers on her painted cheek and I waive good-bye as she heads out the door with friends. Tonight, she will become a big sister!
The birth of my children was always simple, almost intuitive.
The ebbs and flows of my body naturally gave way to their entrance into mortality. It is here that I felt threads weaving to and from the mothers of the world. And so thankful for the insight and wisdom in our First Mother's choice to partake of the Forbidden Fruit. Without her, I would not have been gifted life or be able to pass that breath into my children.
Our Boy came into the world with a little chaos. Reaching the most turbulent peaks of labor my mid-wife eased me into a warm pool of water. My husbands palms slipped into mine, a gesture of love. Thrilled at the instant pain relief, I sunk to my knees resting my head on the side of the pool. A shift in my body told me he was traveling and within minutes my husband was holding our second child. Here he is. Our Boy. Alive and happy to nestle into the warmth of his mother's skin.
At that moment, the pure happiness and clarity in my husbands eyes was undeniable. Underneath it, I could still detect a cloud. A cloud I couldn't grasp. I would always ask, "You have everything in the world to make you happy, why aren't you?"
I wouldn't understand it until years later when his dual life broke from secrecy. That's when I'd know what the dark cloud was.
Water began rushing over the top of the birthing pool and flooding the floor! This is when the chaos began. Who's job was it to turn the water off?!! We were so in love with our Boy that the flood went unnoticed until it began lapping at our mid-wife's feet.
Mr. Scabs rushed to the scene. He's brilliant in chaos. In moments, the catastrophe was under control and he was back at my side adoring the miracle of our child.
Amid his addiction, I believe there were moments of clarity. Moments where his conscience spoke, warning him. Moments where he knew,
Destruction is an infinity easier than creation.
Last Night, June 7, 2012
I feel the inky blue night sky closing in on my eyes too. Our children are dreaming and the house is quiet when Mr. Scabs finds his way to me, sitting closely. His palms slip into mine, a gesture of love. Kissing each of my hands then fingers intertwine. Before he speaks, I feel the sting of tears and the jerking on my heart.
"You look so beautiful, like you're glowing."
His hand reaches for my hair, slowly combing it through his fingers. My heart skips a beat...the spark of something I haven't felt in years.
His smile radiates, a genuine smile. Through his happiness I can see the anguish of a man who was frivolous with his gift of life.
"I have done the worst things. I hate to say 'that was me' but I want to own it. I'm so sorry, so sorry."