Wednesday - April 15, 2009
Nudging to Wakefulness - March 2009
March has come and gone. Hard on its edges, then softening beneath the brittle crust of icy rime. Even when it felt as if winter was clinging with claws and teeth, the persistent thaw warmed and rumbled deep inside.
Now crocuses have pushed up through the earth. Green first. Then their colorful heads. Insistent, regardless of continuing dips and soars in temperature. Sure that the world is warming and welcoming. Sure that their roots can tap deep enough, the sun will shine long enough, the air will be soft enough, the rain will fall often enough, that life may persist.
It isn't much, when spring finally nudges into wakefulness. But its enough.
March has come and gone. Hard on its edges, then softening beneath the brittle crust of icy rime. Even when it felt as if winter was clinging with claws and teeth, the persistent thaw warmed and rumbled deep inside.
Now crocuses have pushed up through the earth. Green first. Then their colorful heads. Insistent, regardless of continuing dips and soars in temperature. Sure that the world is warming and welcoming. Sure that their roots can tap deep enough, the sun will shine long enough, the air will be soft enough, the rain will fall often enough, that life may persist.
It isn't much, when spring finally nudges into wakefulness. But its enough.
And that same awakening is taking place in our family. It has been longer than one snow-capped winter. It has been longer than the grief of Jessie's passing. It has been as long as the changes that turned us into a family finding ways to LIVE and CELEBRATE childhood and family-hood, with and without cancer.
And then, of course, what comes after all of that? The winter. Both the real-world one, and the long emotional and psychological one.
Though it might feel as if we've been dormant, curled into the heart of the bulb that was tucked deep inside the earth, we had memories of past seasons. Surety of life well-lived. Living alongside cancer, we didn't just curl up and wither away. We learned to store up essentials: basking in sunbeams, flying kites on windy days, and going to the beach even when it seemed too cold. Counted up schooldays that we got to stay in class and hang out with friends, made stories out of the new words we learned to read and spell, savored long crazy Monopoly games played around the diningroom table, jotted down spontaneous songs written spur-of-the-moment, and cheered for every kick and roll of a soccer ball and every spin of a bike wheel. All of those moments found their way into the core of our beings, and settled there like the kernel of life and hope, set to dream green and golden against the longest, darkest days.
Life keeps on going, in spite of everything. Maybe deep down. Maybe slow and curled up. It happens in the edges, in the middle, and every space and moment in between.
Like those bulbs planted last autumn, that cast tendrils down into the deep earth for anchorage and nourishment, and then reached upward for light, hope and room to grow, we have experience of past springs and summers and falls. And impossible as it seems, we are awakening out of long grief and stress, pushing toward sunlight and water and air,
And yes, we are tethered deep and certain to the darkness below. Where our roots are buried and our beginnings are still with us.
For now, that's enough.