Indian Summer
I have no idea how warm days in September or October got to be called "Indian Summer," as they were when I was growing up in the East. I don't even think we can have an "Indian Summer" here in SoCal, since, let's face it, temps are fairly even year round. But this AM was so warm on my front porch that it drove me inside, and I've had to wait until the cooling of the setting sun for these moments of relaxation.
I have listened to my father talk about his grief today, and I'm taking some comfort in our parallel processes. In some things we are alike: The way ordinary sounds are amplified when one is in solitude, both of us notice. And we share a tendency to speak just to hear the sound of speech--something I find tenderly comforting to know about my father. In other things we are different: My Dad is more a "typical" male, processing his inner world by working on projects in the outer one. (For instance, I doubt there is one stitch of my mother's clothes left in his home at this point!) I mull, and ruminate, and inwardly dissect... It's all so... mind-bending, stomach-churning, heart-rending! I should take a page from my father's book: he measures his well-being in terms of how little emotion he shows on any given day! Would that I could. Emotionally, I can be all over the place!
Yet I like it somehow that our days are not "normal" for either of us. I feel a kind of "companion" in him that I have not felt, maybe ever, certainly for some time. And there is the Gift of this time, this period, in which we might get to know each other better. Who would have thunk?
...
The more I'm in the "soup" of this time, the more I'm coming to appreciate it. Oh, there is still a lot of pain over losses suffered or imminent. (I mean, I'm not done, by any stretch of the imagination.) And there are sometimes overwhelming fears about the question "what's next?" being answered with "nothing..." And there seems to be a rather steady diet of "crow" I must eat... meaning, I am being made aware of aspects of myself or consequences of my actions that I might otherwise just as soon have been left in the dark about... But that is "growth," isn't it? And isn't increased awareness a good thing? And isn't repentance a positive process? And doesn't my faith assure me about the outcome of such times?
Yes, and don't the real crows in the neighborhood circle overhead? HA! They remind: No matter how thorough we are, there is always more of them to eat!
Such is life...
As the gold in the sky turns to pewter, and the Cleveland Indians fall behind in their effort to extend their summer, I am discovering that I am grateful even for days when it would otherwise seem that I have nothing to be grateful about!
I am grateful for this day... And for warmth, in the air, in your regard, in my heart for all of you... Blessings...
I have listened to my father talk about his grief today, and I'm taking some comfort in our parallel processes. In some things we are alike: The way ordinary sounds are amplified when one is in solitude, both of us notice. And we share a tendency to speak just to hear the sound of speech--something I find tenderly comforting to know about my father. In other things we are different: My Dad is more a "typical" male, processing his inner world by working on projects in the outer one. (For instance, I doubt there is one stitch of my mother's clothes left in his home at this point!) I mull, and ruminate, and inwardly dissect... It's all so... mind-bending, stomach-churning, heart-rending! I should take a page from my father's book: he measures his well-being in terms of how little emotion he shows on any given day! Would that I could. Emotionally, I can be all over the place!
Yet I like it somehow that our days are not "normal" for either of us. I feel a kind of "companion" in him that I have not felt, maybe ever, certainly for some time. And there is the Gift of this time, this period, in which we might get to know each other better. Who would have thunk?
...
The more I'm in the "soup" of this time, the more I'm coming to appreciate it. Oh, there is still a lot of pain over losses suffered or imminent. (I mean, I'm not done, by any stretch of the imagination.) And there are sometimes overwhelming fears about the question "what's next?" being answered with "nothing..." And there seems to be a rather steady diet of "crow" I must eat... meaning, I am being made aware of aspects of myself or consequences of my actions that I might otherwise just as soon have been left in the dark about... But that is "growth," isn't it? And isn't increased awareness a good thing? And isn't repentance a positive process? And doesn't my faith assure me about the outcome of such times?
Yes, and don't the real crows in the neighborhood circle overhead? HA! They remind: No matter how thorough we are, there is always more of them to eat!
Such is life...
As the gold in the sky turns to pewter, and the Cleveland Indians fall behind in their effort to extend their summer, I am discovering that I am grateful even for days when it would otherwise seem that I have nothing to be grateful about!
I am grateful for this day... And for warmth, in the air, in your regard, in my heart for all of you... Blessings...
posted by TRXTR | 5:44 PM
2 Comments:
You are an amazing person, with profound wisdom. These are wonderful insights, that came from your own hand..
Written by RBD
"But tragedy is only one stream, and the River of Life is fed by many tributaries. My hope for people who discover the river of tragedy (suddenly) has made its course through their lives, is that they will continue to explore Life's ever changing landscape. There are mountains of gladness out there, too, still. It is just that everything has shifted for the time being."
"I awoke this morning more aware of my sadness than anything, true. And really, it'd be alright to stay in this place for a while, for sadness after all is a part of life-- I am no less vital, I have not stopped living because I am sad! But the day beckons. The birds who come to the feeder cock their heads at me, as if pointing to other places to go, alternatives to staying put. I'll just have to follow them, and see where they are going..."
"Maybe it was a divorce or an infidelity or a transgression of some sort, or perhaps an alcohol- or drug-related history, or even a job loss and a period of unemployment. Whatever it might be, such events or proclivities nearly always have a life-shaping effect on both the one whose life we are now recalling, and on the family members now recalling it! Yet more often than not, the consensus among those entrusted with telling the story of their loved one's life is: we can't mention that; we shouldn't talk about that. Talk about the "good" things, I'm told, but there seems little sense that what makes our lives rich and human and real are not just the flights from peak to peak to peak, but the ups and downs, the "thrill of victory and the agony of defeat," the ways we triumphed over failings, or did not. How can there be any real "good," in other words, without some "bad," some tragedy, some pain."
"I don't pretend to know grief, but I am not a stranger to it, either. None of us are, I guess. I imagine that we all come to know grief in ways large or small, but I believe that each of us knows grief only in our most personal ways, in the ways we know family, or friends, or lovers. Yet perhaps precisely because of the very personal quality of our knowledge of grief, we have only just made our acquaintance with it. There is always that much more to find out, to be surprised by."
"And now I adjust to life by myself again... I get to fill the quiet solely in my own ways."
"This was not a time for coming to know more, but one for living with unknowing on the threshold of the unknown."
Thank you, Les, for helping me listen to myself! Thank you...
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