reminder

Today was a big day. I'm left feeling sad. Anxious. A little freaked out. Kinda rattled and full and not sure where to put all my emotions.

Tomorrow we are electing a new president. That's enough to turn my belly. Bring out all my anxieties in thinking about the future, the future of our country and how that future will impact my world, my girl. And thinking about the uncertainty of it all, the uncertainty of this world.

I attended a funeral today. I heard my strong and proud and articulate third grade student remember his dad. Watched him step up on the step stool so that he could reach the microphone. Watched him take deep breaths, watched him speak with the pride and the self-assurance of a boy who is wholly loved. Heard him speak about the great man, the great doctor that his dad was, his dad who suddenly passed less than a week ago. His dad who gave me my first glimpses of Eliana when she was just a little sprout in my belly. Who had the vision and drive to open the beauteous center of her birth.

Many times during and since pregnancy I've marveled at the job of OB, of midwife, of doula. What must it be like to be there for that tremendous, mind-shattering event, day after day? Does it ever lose it's absolute sheen? Does it become mundane? How full must their every days be? How could you not feel like you were living your life to the fullest when you spend your days welcoming life into the world? And after years and years of bring life into the world, one day, yours is snatched out from beneath you.

There were so many tiny babies at this service. So many pictures of babies on the walls. The cry of a baby breaking the uncomfortable stillness of ceremony. The connection between birth and death, the reality of it all, the continuum, the cycle, so very present.

Death is such a terrifying thing. Mystifying. Real.

My friend recently wrote about accepting the mortality of her child. Reading her words brought me to tears, made me shake a bit as I thought about how much courage it takes to talk about death.

I don't have any wisdom tonight. I try to stay pretty in tune with the notion that moments are precious and time is sacred and to be used with audacious joy. But then you go from a funeral to taking your babe to the pediatrician. And you are waiting for the nurse to bring your daughter's shots after already waiting for what seems like forever just to get in. And you start to feel antsy and itchy and tired and it's already dark because daylight savings was last night and you are the last patient of the day. And you wish you had your own cell phone so you could make a phone call to your husband, complain to someone, tell him you are still waiting.

And then your daughter provides you with yet another lesson of the day. Because she has found absolute joy in an item in the doctor's box of plastic goodies. She has figured out how the marble is attached to the lever that is attached to the bright red plastic switch that she can maneuver. She has shared this discovery with you and then proceeds to kiss the toy. All you can think about at first is all the germs covering this disgusting old piece of plastic. But her, "Aahhhs" get louder and she snuggles the plastic box to her chest.You remember the lesson. The joy of the moment. The discovery and beauty of now. You look at her enormous eyes. Her round belly and skinny, little legs. Watch her pass you the toy so you too can affirm her joy. Watch her in her ridiculous ability to be present.So I guess that's all I can attempt to do.

Be strong.
Be here.
Share my love.
Live with joy.