“A Bandaid for my heart”

She asked me if I knew about dying.

I said I knew it hurt when someone we love died.

She nodded and fiddled with the pencil, poked the tip against her finger, poked again. Again.

I wondered if she was trying to make the hurting take a form she understood through the pinprick of a just-sharpened pencil. I gently put my hand on hers.

She looked up at me, thankfully without embarrassment or worry of judgment. Feelings weren’t easy for this child, whose very early years were filled with much that couldn’t be expressed and had no wording. Her grandfather passed away right before her birth and a hue of grief lingered many months, adding to her mother’s post-partum depression. Her mother has recovered since, and the home was generally caring, but unspoken early patterns of if-you-are-quiet-you-won’t-overwhelm-mom and waiting for another’s space to open so you can have your needs met still played out often. The girl, not yet ten, was more likely to attend to others’ feelings than her own; more likely to dismiss her anguish to not distress others.

I smiled at her and she smiled back shyly. Her eyes glistened and she sniffed.

“My dad told you?”

“Your mom did.”

Her eyes flew to mine, surprised at being thought of. She took another breath. Tears slid down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Sweetie.” I handed her a tissue and snuck a bit of extra affection into the gesture. Just because. She noticed. Smiled the sad smile again.

Her great-grandmother died two nights before. Her father’s grandmother was a fixture in the child’s life. A rock. The one who filled the gaps, stepped in, held, held on. An elder in the best sense of the word. There was a love there that spanned generations. A special bond with this child.

It was a gentle death, the mother said. Doctors believed the grandma had passed away peacefully in her sleep. No pain. No long decline. That was a blessing, but for the child this loss still hollowed.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” she whispered.

“I know. I’m sorry.” I moved a strand of hair off her cheek. “You can still say it. Maybe not in the way you’d have wanted, but still …”

“Yeah,” she sniffed. Dismissed. Reconsidered. Looked up. “How?”

“Any way you can think of, almost.”

She pondered. “Dad said she can hear me. In my dreams. In my thoughts.” Her eyes probed. She wanted to believe it.

“I believe that’s possible, yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t know exactly. I just feel it. In my heart. About people I love and passed away. It feels right to me that we are still connected, that in some way they can hear me.”

Her eyes overflowed again but her face softened. “I think I’ll talk to her. Tonight, maybe. You know, just me and her.”

I nodded, smiled.

She sighed. Drew in a shuddering breath. Sighed again.

“I miss her,” she whispered. “It hurts. I wish I had a Bandaid for my heart.”

hands-and-heart

 

A New Year Blessing

2015 2016

May it be a year of peace

A year of calm

A year of heart

Of reason.

May it be a year of kindness

Of compassion

Of humanity and understanding.

May it be a year of healing

For this Mother Earth

And all who are together on it.

May it be a year of wisdom

Of light over darkness

Love over hate

Acceptance over ignorance

Courage over fear.

May it be the year where violence recedes

Where patience and respect for one another

Become more valued

Than greed

And need for power.

May it be a year of history remembered

Not repeated.

A year of repair

Not more destruction

Of healing

Not added wounding.

May it be a year where we truly do

Value the future

Of our children

Of humanity

This planet home.

May it be

A happy new year.

A year of joy

Where we could know

Each day by blessed day

That we the people

Are finally

Together

Finding our way.

Keep a light on

May you always keep a light on

In your heart

Your place of better knowing.

May you always keep a light on

Even when it may well seem

The only one

For miles around.

May you always keep a light on

To turn cold

Into warmth inviting

And isolation

Into welcome home.

Darkness and Light

light path

As the holiday season comes into swing (even if the weather on the East Coast has not gotten the memo…), I find myself thinking of the theme of light that permeates the season; and of the fears of darkness it hopes to overcome.

Someone noted to me–rather resentfully–how angry they are with the holiday season “hijacked by all this talk of fear and dark and hate and ugliness.” I was a bit surprised, because to me it was the opposite: This is probably the most apt time of year to face polarities of light and dark … Oh, it is a most difficult subject to approach and manage, but what can be more timely than doing so in the time of celebrating light and highlighting the survival or the birth of a religion? Or humanity’s perception of possible ongoing life?

So I think of the realities of shadows that too many are hell-bent on casting (either in advocacy of terror or in preaching overgeneralized fear and hate); and I think of the many lights that can chase those shadows away. I think of those who somehow gravitate more toward dark than illumination; and of the many who find light a far more satisfying source of power than adding to the pool of dark.

This year the battle between light and darkness may be especially evident, but the struggle has been then for eons; as did the valiant effort to shine light onto darkness and highlight life, not death.

This time of year, particularly.

The approach of the longest night has always been a time of worry and wariness. All through history, humans have found ways to combat it with light and celebrations, prayer and devotion, with reminders of the light-to-come and the reminiscing on the light that did return even after times of darkness. The miracle of light and hope and life.

Peoples the world over have some holiday of light around this time of year. Christianity itself ‘piggybacked’ onto existing holidays (and moved the celebration of the ‘birth of Christ’ from the summer, when Jesus was actually born, to near the Winter Solstice), to fill the need to note light and rebirth at the time of utmost darkness. People always needed to remind and rejoice the slow return of longer daylight and the promise of regrowth, spring, future harvests; life.

So … maybe it is not so strange that we are facing yet another battle of dark and light in this time of archetypical struggle between a sense of doom and a holding on to hope. There have probably always been those naysayers who predicted death, destruction, loss (or who hung the prevention of awfulness on penance and ‘sacrifices’). However, history itself also shows how humanity repeatedly–universally–found a way to hold light high and sparkle it abundantly. Cultures chased dark not with gloom but with sharing light, kindness, warmth, and celebration.

May we, too, remember that light will come. Is already on its way to coming. May we hold fast to the knowledge that the days will slowly overcome the night of soul and darkness will lose hold and weaken. We can hasten it with sharing our own light. With spreading kindness. With opening our hearts to those in need. With refusing to feed or amplify the darkness. Dark needs growth to spread, but light is never diminished when it is shared. We can help it grow by holding on not to fear, but hope.

Wishing you and all a season — a lifetime — of light.

light

Thankful

thanks

Thankful for the things

That could be taken for granted

And yet are not so, for too many:

Shelter, food, warm clothing,

Clean water

Safety.

Thankful for the blessings I may not even notice

And yet are never empty:

Clean air, a language others understand,

Having a place

Where I am welcome

A bed to tuck myself into and rise from,

Soft covers,

Floor, a ceiling, sturdy walls.

Thankful for the senses that I have

And do not fail me:

Sight (and insight)

Hearing (and the ability to listen)

Smell (and being able to sniff out what is not right)

Taste (in food, and things, and people)

To be touched in kindness

And to touch others

In reassurance,

In compassion.

Thankful for the love in my life

For health and the ability to tend to it,

For knowing that I have a place to call home …

My heart breaks to know so many don’t.

Thankful for connection

For access to information.

For the ability to research so I can separate truth from distortion,

The freedom to ask questions,

The space to disagree,

Without risking violence and harm.

Thankful … for so much,

And hoping that such thanks could be available

To all.

May there be

A multitude

Of thanks.

penguin hug

 

Hang in the Balance

balance

We all hang in the balance.

Can’t you see?

Be gentle.

Be truthful.

Be fair.

Above all–be kind.

We all hang in the balance.

Do you understand?

The smallest. The heavy. The brazen. The meek. The old. The young.

We all hang in the balance.

It matters.

Above all–be kind.

Peace

In this time of repeated violence, I find solace in the truths that do not fade, for they hold more substance than fleeting words, shoulder shrugs, denials, numbness, pretense, or calls for more violence as a ‘solution’ for the inordinate violence that’s already there.

Truths remain. Even in the face of the most urgent attempts to smother it.

In this time of sorrow and frustration, I am reminded:

“There is no way to peace.

Peace is the way.”

                                             (A. J. Muste)

And

“The person who says it cannot be done

should not interrupt the person doing it…”

                                                  (Chinese Proverb)

From NPR.org by NASA

From NPR.org by NASA