I’ve been her…

I’ve been here before.

Waiting for my children, who are inside the belly of a big silver bird, that’s carrying them through time and space nearly 2,600 miles to me.

But, this year, it’s different. Someone is waiting for me. He’s babysitting my little tow-headed lab with the painted ears, and has given me specific instructions that I’m to text him announcing the safe arrival of my bugs on Montana soil.

Love has found me, at 46-years young. It has arrived in storybook fashion, unexpectedly and with such a jolt as to send my world spinning from the outset. I’ve spent the better part of my days trying to capture what poets, artists, and writers have been trying to get at for millennia – this thing called love.

I read recently that the heart has its own central nervous system. That it should be given the same due respect as our brains. Since its arrival in my life, I now believe this to be true. I thought only my children could cause me to feel my heart so separate from the rest of my being.

But, his absences tug and stretch at my heart, while his nearness causes me to feel as if it will certainly explode from my chest. He only has to think of me, no matter how far away he may be, and my heart registers his thoughts. I should know from my children that it is possible to be completely emotionally linked to another soul. 

“I am strong, if you are strong,” the bracelet said. I’d worn it until I met him and then taken it off thinking I no longer needed it. I’d given it to a friend who seemed to need it more. But, right now, I can heed those words and remember that it is true of him and me, as well as of me and my children. He is now a part of my emotional linkage.

Tonight, I can be strong for my children because he is strong for me. I can feel it. This is my blessing, my start to a new year and the doors to my future. I thank God for him, for us, and for the life we will build together. 

 

 

One True Thing

The passing of my Bella this past fall and the depth of that loss, has caused me to spend a great deal of time reflecting on what is truly important in my life. Obviously, my children are at the top of that list. The life that we have, that we’ve created from scratch together is beyond my wildest expectations. I will forever wonder why God chose to bless me with my Aleutia and Elias, but it has given a depth to my life experience that never existed prior to their accompaniment. What we have is true, it’s real, and it’s eternal. It is a bond of love that will never be broken by time. It is God’s greatest gift – love.

In reflecting on this, I began to consider what other true things I’ve had in my life. Surprisingly, at 46, I found the list quite small. After the love of my children, and my companion Bella, I can only point to a few relationships that have been the glue which has kept me together over all these years. The dear friend who’s always been by my side despite our completely disparate lives, and a few family members who’ve never faltered.

Not everyone is fortunate enough to grow up experiencing unconditional love. It is something I work hard to demonstrate to my children. The opposite is conditional love, which is destructive. It teaches you to be mistrustful, guarded, and insecure because you never know when your love will be rebuffed for some slight or when it will be accepted again.

Instead, I teach my children that no matter what they do, they can always count on my love. Sometimes, I might need a moment to regroup after I’m upset with them. If I do, I always make a point to hold them afterwards and tell them they are loved. I want them to be strong, confident, and trusting of other people.  If you trust love, then you can embrace life with an open heart and without fear of reprisal.

So, my epiphany, after this thought process and thinking about my future, has been that I only seek one thing in life. Most people talk about their “bucket list,” as they get older, which is typically a list of things to do before they die. While that would be an adventure, I seek something deeper, something that will outlast me. I seek the kind of love that I can only call “the one true thing.” The kind that has the same magic I share with my children and like my love with them will not only stand the test of time, but live beyond.  This love can come in many forms and doesn’t necessarily have to be romantic. Just as long as it’s real, it’s true and I can count on it to anchor me for the rest of my life.

Because, really, it is those “one true things” that have kept me afloat over the course of my life and helped me navigate the roughest waters. Without them, I fear where I would be and I recognize how much I need them. I do not have a “bucket list,” I only have this – to find that “one true thing, and if I do, to hold onto it tenaciously, courageously, and with a passion that only those seeking anchors like myself can understand. 

 

A Letter to Bella

This past week I had to let my beautiful companion of 13 years go. She was only in real pain for a few hours until my vet returned from tending to cows. I was fortunate enough to lie with my body wrapped around her and her lovely head in my arms during that time. She was awake, alert, wagging her tail and putting up the best front that she could. Unfortunately, the x-rays revealed an enormous tumor above her heart that was pressing against her trachea and spine. She only had a few days the vet said and she was in obvious pain.

I told my vet she’d already told me it was time to go that morning. And she had, with one painful look into my eyes. She’d told me that it was time – that I needed to let her go. In fact, she’d told me that a couple nights before when I couldn’t rouse her to come upstairs to sleep on my bed. I’d said my goodbyes that night, but when I rose to leave her she struggled to her feet and I held onto her crying and begging her not to leave me. I knew it was selfish, but I didn’t understand at the time how selfish.

You see, I’d gotten a new pup just a week prior and I thought she was giving up on me. I thought I’d hurt her in the worst way possible. So I was begging her to not give up and to stay with me. I told her how I had room in my life and heart for both of them. What I didn’t know was that it was her body giving up, not her heart. 

I am grateful for the knowledge that her body was what failed her, but it does not ease the pain of her passing. This is a letter to my dear sweet Bella, the kind of companion you are blessed to have once-in-a-lifetime.

Bella

We had some amazing times together and no one can ever take that away from us. What we shared was a bond that I’ve never known with any human being in my life. People have come and gone in my life, always leaving. You never left. And, I know that in your heart you weren’t ready to leave. If your heart could’ve sustained you, we would still be together. But, your stupid body failed you. I know now, after seeing the condition of your body that your heart pushed you to stay with me as long as it could. Thank you for that. You knew how much I needed you.

My heart is broken Bella and the pain I feel enormous – at times seeming more than I can bear. But, you know what my responsibilities are in my life. I must persevere. I understand now, though, how two people who’ve shared a life together can die just moments or hours apart. Were things different I would not want to be here without you to share my journey. But, my life is much more complex than that and we both knew you would be the first to go. Still, I take comfort knowing that I will see you again and that always you are in my heart.

Mostly, I take comfort in the memories we made together. So many images over so many landscapes and you were there for me in all of them. Always you gave me comfort, instilled courage, and lent me strength. Because of you I am here today, strong again, able to be the mother that I need to be for my two little bugs. I can’t imagine embarking on the journey I began nearly six years ago without you by my side. And, while I feel such loneliness deep inside, I know that I am never really alone. You are in me.

God, I will miss you my dear sweet dog. I will try to love this new little guy and give him a chance to fill your shoes. But, always I will see you watching over us, knowing that he’s just trying to occupy a space that is forever yours.

I’ve lived and loved enough to know that will change, but right now, in this moment, I want you to know that is how I feel.

All my love – always my dear sweet Piglet. May there be ample water where you are now and lots of dirt to roll in after. Goodbye my love.

Andre

 

Personal Power

This morning I had my soul sister drop in for coffee. Her kids still sleeping, it was the perfect time for the two of us to curl up in our armchairs with a hot cup of Joe and catch up on our lives. The focus of the conversation was on me, as usual. Don’t get me wrong, my friend gets her time, but it seems when my kids are gone I get a lot of air time. At any rate, the conversation was about relationships. Somehow, we managed to spend the better part of an hour on this topic. It wasn’t until later in the day, after I’d closed up my work folder and popped the lid on a Twisted Tea that I began to reflect on our conversation.

My friend had referenced power several times. She was referring specifically to the personal power that each one of us carries which allows us to make decisions and control our own ship. Her concern was that I had a tendency, in her opinion, to sometimes give that power away in relationships. Not just in friendships, but also in romantic relationships. I listened to her comments, but honestly had no idea what the hell she was inferring. But, over the course of the day it sat in my head like a piece of uncooked corn that refused to pop. Finally, towards the end of the work-day, however, that kernel began to bounce around in my head a bit until it finally popped.

The fact is, she’s right. After five years in a destructive relationship, I am still too quick to give away my power and take a subservient role. For those of you who know me well, this is really hard to understand.  After all, I’m the woman who’s raised two children entirely on her own without the help of family, friends, or a husband. Something that I never really consider until I come across status updates from friends on Facebook who are whining because they’re   solo for a week or weekend while their significant other is away. This always makes me laugh, since I’ve never had anyone to lean on.

But, I’m straying from my point about personal power. I began to think about that and the little ways that I might give it away. And, I realized the first thing I do is I discount my own wants and needs for that other person. I put his needs in front of my own. In fact, I do so to the extent of being no longer able to identify what my own needs are anymore.  Which, really, is not only unhealthy, but if my significant other is a good guy drives him crazy because I am incapable of saying what I really want. So that’s my first way of giving away power, which I vow to change immediately.

The next way that I give away personal power is by giving. When I care about someone I give freely everything that I can to that person; from the little things like making meals, or giving back-rubs, to bigger things like gifts and doing thoughtful things for them. This is a great trait if it’s appreciated and reciprocated, however, when that’s taken for granted, then I’m just giving too much and I’m handing over my power with it. So, second note to self is to put the brakes on until I’m sure exactly what kind of man I’m dealing with.

One of the most damaging things I’ve ever done to myself in terms of giving away my power was in the sack. Yes, I’m talking about sex. I know, you’re aghast, but we’re all adults here. It’s true, I had a man tell me once not to use sex as power and I relented despite not being in the mood, being upset with him, or whatever other reason I really did not want to have sex at the time. I haven’t been to a psychiatrist to have them explain to me what this might have done to me, but I think it stole some of my beautiful spirit and robbed my core of valuable inner strength. So, that is a huge note to self – do not give in the sack, unless it’s what I want.

Which brings me to my final thought about the many ways I’ve given away my personal power, and that’s being a cheerleader. That’s right, a constant cheerleader for my man, even if deep-down I really don’t believe what I’m telling him. One of my best skills is to assess the average guy and attribute all kinds of unwarranted, positive traits to his character. Then, I’m great at telling him about those traits and cheering on his every move or attempt to move. Hell, I’m surprised I haven’t congratulated a man on how he got his ass off the couch to switch channels on the television. Yes, it is that bad. So, keeping a balanced perspective and being honest about a man’s positive and negative traits is something else I have to work on.

Really, all I’ve covered here is giving away personal power in a romantic relationship. Since my soul sister inferred that I’ve handed her my personal power at times in our friendship, I still have more to ponder. I’m puzzled by that comment, but it’s not nearly as interesting as thinking about how I’ve done that in my relationships with men.  Perhaps a second Twisted Tea will lead me to that subject, for now, I have enough to contemplate.

 

Unravelling

Five years ago, at this time,  I was stuffing my Suburban with garbage bags full of the belongings that I would take with me to start a new life. My husband, at the time, had put my two babies, one and three-years-old, in the front seat of his pickup and stood outside of it mocking me derisively as they watched, oblivious to the significance of the event. After the last bag was stuffed in, I collected my two babies and secured them in their car seats. Bella, my yellow lab and best friend, was in the passenger seat and I stuffed the cat carrier on top of our belongings between the children.  Living on an island, we drove about a half mile to the ferry terminal where I got the car in line and numbly unloaded the children to go into the terminal and get our tickets. While the children played, the length of our journey began to set in. We’d spend two days on the ferry traveling from SE Alaska to Bremerton, Washington. There, we’d disembark and I planned to drive over the North Cascade highway to Montana in order to avoid the Seattle traffic.  Returning to the car, I steeled myself for the journey and spoke excitedly to the kids, masking my true emotions. It was dark now and we were just getting ready to load when there was a tap at the window. It was him. He wanted me to take his laptop and the camera and was shoving them through the window at me.  I remember staring at him incredulously and pulled them into the car as he yelled goodbye to his children. And, just like that, he was gone.

That night, after the kids were soundly sleeping in the cabin bunks, I got up and stood looking out the ferry window at the pitch black water and sky.  Somewhere from deep within myself I gathered the strength for our journey and we passed the next two days uneventfully on the ferry. Being alone with my two babies was nothing new to me, I’d only had two breaks from them in three years.  My first was when my daughter was 18-months-old and I’d had to take a two-hour exam for my teaching certification. The second was a weekend trip to see my old friend Ashlie in Seattle. I didn’t really count that, though, because he’d called me the first night I was there and told me he was going for a walk (while the children were sleeping). I told him he couldn’t do that, they were babies, what if they woke up – and he got mad at me. The rest of my time in Seattle was a living hell as I counted every hour until I had them safely in my arms again. After that, I never left them again. I’d literally spent every hour with them outside of those two breaks, so being on my own with them was not a burden for me.  All I remember of that ferry trip was when we passed from the inland passages of SE Alaska and for a spell were on the open ocean where the swell rocked us sideways considerably, alarming passengers not familiar with the roll of the sea.

Arriving in Bremerton, I loaded the children in the car, let the cat out of her carrier and put Bella in the front seat. As cars began to unload, I took a deep breath and told myself I had this, I just had to get to the exit for the North Cascades. Heading up the plank off the boat, I glanced to my right and saw a couple of good looking guys watching us unload. It took me a second to realize it was two of my brothers. Tears were pouring down my face when I pulled off and they ran up to greet me. Any emotional strength I’d gathered was gone and I held them trying to borrow some of their strength. We set out, me following them as my children didn’t want them to drive us. Climbing onto the busy interstate I stayed as tight to them as I could, but it seemed if I opened up more than a few feet a car got between us. That’s when it hit me, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I stuck my arm out the window waving wildly and heading for the nearest exit. My brothers followed and after we pulled off, agreed to get me to Snoqualmie Pass. With my middle brother Jess driving, we set out again. I concentrated on not looking at the road and all the cars. We got stuck in another traffic jam and I laid my head down on the seat, overwhelmed by the sound and the motion. “Just talk to me,” I told my brother, and he rubbed my head talking away. Finally we were clear of it all and pulled into North Bend for something to eat.

Whatever confidence I had was drained from me when my brother’s arrived and after the white knuckle drive I seriously doubted I could make it to Montana. But, I had two young children with me and I knew if I could get to Montana I’d be OK. So, after lunch, we said our farewells and I toughed it out to the top of the pass. There I pulled off and into a ski resort parking lot. I turned off the car and said to my kids, “I can’t do it, I just can’t do it.” And you know what those little suckers did? They both looked at me and said, “Yes, you can mom, you can do it.” I pulled every last bit of reserve that I had in me and pulled that car full of trash bags that were slapping in the wind from the rolled down windows back onto the highway. Milepost by milepost, exit by exit, I did make it to Montana. I will never forget the comfort I felt when I left the busy freeways of Washington State for the quiet Montana highways. But, what I remember most is the first time I saw Flathead Lake in the distance and the tears that poured down my cheeks. The Mighty Mission Range was still there peached in the early spring twilight and rolling the windows down as we came into Polson, it smelled like flowers. We had Van Morrison cranked loud and we were singing. My cat Green Eyes was flattened out like a pancake between the kids on top of everything with the wind blowing across her fur and Bella stuck her nose out the window.

I’d made it, but only to Montana. The journey back to the strong woman that first got off that float plane in Pelican, Alaska continues.  It’s been five years and while I get glimpses, much of her still eludes me.  I may be only a shell of that woman, but I’ve done allright. With the encouragement of my two little bugs we’ve come a long ways from Snoqualmie Pass.

 

Moments

Wisdom is something I’m only now starting to realize, if I’m lucky, midway or so through this journey. The wisdom I’ve gained has been in many different realms, most notably relationships. And, despite how I would’ve liked to have had some of that 20 years ago, the most valuable I’ve gleaned has to do with time. You see, my entire life I have been waiting for the passage of time. Every mark, every goal, every dream, every desire meant waiting for time to pass. And, up until about eight years ago, that passage seemed excruciatingly slow. Whether waiting to start high school, get my license, graduate, go to college, graduate from college, start my career, it all took waiting patiently to pass through the hoops of time.

Then, for reasons which will always be inexplicable to me, about eight years ago God gave me the greatest gift any woman could ever desire – a child. And, from the moment she came out of me, time became something to hold onto, cling to, all the while searching desperately for nonexistent brakes.  If I think back, I believe this changing in the sense of time happened the moment I laid eyes on her – the moment that only another mom can understand – when you’re looking at a miracle that’s just come out of you.  Holding your child for the first time is like finally holding time in your hands. From then on time unravels moment-by-moment in that little being, as we bear witness. The fortunate mothers are mature enough to treasure every moment of that passage of time.

Because of this gift, the past eight years have been the richest I have ever known. I have never lived in the present as much in my life. I have never been a part of so many moments that have made me smile, laugh, cry, and want to etch forever in my mind.  Sure, there are times I have wanted to scream, pull my hair out, give up, yell at someone, but those were part of everyday life before kids.  I have never known before kids the power I have as a human being to love, comfort, and care for another.  

As a parent, I have magical powers I never knew I had. I can make a bad day good, make the boogie man go away, cure a sick tummy, or offer a comforting hug. I’m the one to go to when something’s broken, who can teach you how to ride a bike, throw a football, or ice skate. My kids taught me how to use my undiscovered magic in ways only they can. One of my favorite powers is my ability to make everything safe again. I love it when one of my babies climbs in bed with me, scared, and after being securely wrapped in my arms, is peacefully sound asleep in a matter of minutes.  My bed even has a magic smell that sometimes makes my kids ask me to lend them one of my pillows.

Had I known what a gift they are and the richness they would add to my life, I would’ve had them a lot earlier, but then I wouldn’t have had my Aleutia and Elias. So, I no longer waste the time I have looking back. Instead, I practice each day to live in the moment. To savor each laugh, each smile, each tear, knowing that once it passes it cannot be recaptured. I try not to even envision the future or what it might look like because what is the future really? It’s a dream, that’s all – it’s a hope, it’s a desire, nothing more. It’s not real. All that is real is right in front of us every day. It’s those who grace our lives – that’s all that’s real. And, whether they’re young, old, two-legged, or four-legged, I encourage you to relish your shared moments. Those are the real gift I’ve discovered. Those are what this ride is all about. That is the one true bit of wisdom I can hold onto, feel its heft, and know with certainty it is real.

 

“I am happy if you are happy.”

It’s interesting to me that I apparently only have something to share of value about every other month. This, of course, leads me to wonder how all these other author/bloggers find something of value every single week or even every day. Perhaps it’s my life situation, a single mother with two young children, running my business from home. I’m too busy playing multiple roles, and trying to cover over any holes in the spackling of my children’s live’s with love, to give my own creative process much time.

The funny thing is I had someone tell me about a year ago that I’d better watch it, better find some time for me or I’d begin to resent them. This struck me as absurd, and I let the person who shared that with me know that. His kids grown and out of the house, he really did not understand the symbiotic nature of the relationship that I have with my children. We truly rely on one another in every way and that is just continuing to grow and flourish in more positive ways as we mature.

About a month ago, I was busy trying to get the house winterized. Nearly 100-years-old, she’s a cheeky old dame, but needs a little make-up to get through winter’s grand ball. One of the things that I do to prepare her is to cover all of her old windows in plastic. I generally wait as long as I can to do this, but this year when we went from 70 to –20 in the course of a week, I was left no choice. I was nearly done upstairs and running out of plastic when one of the sheets tore that I was applying. Tired, frazzled, I let myself have a good old tizzy, as my mother always called them. It went something like this: “I hate this house,” fist hitting wall and tears following. Then the same phrase repeated several times as I finally sat down on the floor and had a good cry.

After my breakdown, I sat down with my kids to try and explain why I’d gotten so upset at the house. My son had started crying telling me, “I love this house mom.” I told them that I was mentally and physically exhausted, that every once in a while it sounded really nice to have somebody give me a hand. I told them that sometimes I get tired of trying to do everything myself – the usual laments of a single mom. My children listened, comforting me as I spoke. And, finally, they both said, “But, you’re not alone mom, we’re here.” “I can help you,” Elias pointed out. I looked at him and realized that he was right, it wouldn’t be long and I’d have a little man around the house to help. Squeezing them both, I told them they were right and the moment passed.

About a week ago I was in my office working when Elias walked in with a note for me. It said, “I Love you mom. I am happy if you are happy. You are my mom and I Love you.” The spelling was all correct, it was written in yellow, and interestingly both I and love were capitalized. I sat looking at it, and my first thought was, leave it to a kid to figure out that Love should always be capitalized. Then, I set it in my printer feed tray next to my computer so I could meditate on it often.

How many times have other adults told me that if I’m happy, my kids will be happy, and here it is coming directly from my 6-year-old’s loving hand.  Prophetically, a client and friend of mine sent me a couple books for Christmas that address this very subject. So far, they’ve both captivated me and appear to offer a lot of wisdom into this matter of discovering your own happiness. It appears that the meat of one book is that you can’t base your happiness on events out of your control – like me becoming a great author, for example.

So, here I sit, knowing that I will never resent my children. Fearing that if I don’t create a life for myself and find happiness inside myself I will saddle them with a needy, overbearing mom as they begin to grow apart from me and develop into their own individual branches. It’s an awesome thing to contemplate. I always thought the Holy Grail of being published was my only dream. But, now alone, I realize that it will take a great deal more for me to find fulfillment – a great deal more.

 

The Simple Life

Legs bent and tucked underneath, hands flung skyward, he is captured in midair above the richly colored leaf pile below. His long, blond hair disheveled, cheeks aglow with the autumn chill, his smile can only be called that of childhood. He is the innocent barefoot boy, slipping into fall, begging to stay out after dinner despite the early darkness settling in. 

I posted this picture to my Facebook account last night after finally learning how to transfer the photos from my phone to my computer. There were several albums that I created actually. “Limekiln,” “Hay Bales,” and “the Pool.” After I uploaded all these pictures, I sat sipping a glass of wine, on my couch and examined them slowly, studying each detail. In them, my kids are happy, taking joy in the simple pleasures that I remember as a child. They are outdoors – at the pool, by the creek, on top of a hay bale, jumping into a pile of leaves, on the top of a mountain – in Mother Montana’s playground.

It wasn’t that long ago that I told them at the dinner table I had an important announcement. “What is it mom?” they asked, excitedly. “I have decided that we are not moving,” I replied. Before I could elaborate they were out of their seats, hugging me and expressing their agreement. Earlier in the summer my youngest had told me, “I want to die in this house.” After their long summer away with their father I’d had a lot of time to investigate my need to move. What I’d concluded was that the reasons for staying outweighed the reasons for leaving. I didn’t tell them any of this, of course, but their reaction only confirmed what my gut had been telling me.

We have a simple life. Our days are full of walks to the creek, hikes in the mountains, ice skating or swimming across the street, sledding on the nearby hills, fishing in the reservoirs, catching crawfish at the fish hatchery, and evening drives just to “get out.” Commerce occupies our lives only in our trips to the grocery store or our local discount store. The kids save their money and buy themselves little gifts at the Feed store or the Army/Navy store. The nearest mall is a blessed two hours away in either direction. We have one small movie theatre in town and have seen three movies there in four years. Come March, the T.V. is turned off until September. Our days become endless as spring stretches into summer and by the time fall arrives we’re excited to once again enjoy the distraction of television.

It is a life similar to the one my parents knew - slower, and richer than the one I knew as a child after we left Montana. Those childhood memories, my two brief years on the shore of a small lake in Northwest Montana, are what keep me here. I came here to give them this gift. This sense of place, of the rich passing of days marked by small things found mostly out-of-doors. There are other treasures too, like the deeply forged bonds of friendship that can only come from spending time and creating memories together. Mostly there is a sense of community, of being part of a larger group of hardy individuals that look out for one another and relish the same lifestyle.

The days of fall are marked and the leaf pile may last another week. After that, all bets are off as Old Man Winter has made it clear he’s on his way. I’m ready for his arrival. The hockey skates are sitting by the front door.

 

Our Healing Mind

I made it. For the past two weeks I’ve had my children back in my loving arms. It occurred to me to share the story of our reunion. But, I can sum that up in one word – blissful. So, I sit here in my nest, which feels warm, secure, and richly complete with two little bodies snug in their beds.

Instead, tonight, I’ve found myself reflecting on my own inner journey over the seven weeks that they were gone. I’m trying to take an accounting of what I’ve accomplished, and the most rewarding things I can point to took place internally – deep inside the narrow, winding maze of passageways in my mind.

When the kids left I can only describe my mental state as being akin to “trigger finger.” My poor body and mind were on such high alert that the slightest unexpected news which might be construed as bad sent me into mental fits. Me, a lover of world news and events, had gotten to where I didn’t read my beloved New York Times in the morning. I had shut out the world of news as it was overload to what I had to deal with in my life.

I should back up for a moment. In the prior nine months, my youngest son, who just turned 6, had developed asthma. In that time he’d endured five or six illnesses requiring many emergency visits and sleepless nights applying a nebulizer so he could breathe.  By the time late spring came around we’d taken a train ride to Seattle to see specialists and I was ever vigilant. The slightest cough or runny nose and I went into “battle mode.”

Without knowing it, I’d lost control of my thought process. I’d let worry control my mind and permeate all of my thoughts. My poor body, in response, had nothing to do with this information. So, I’d begun to suffer from anxiety. I spent many winter nights, curled up in my bed, heart pounding, feeling isolated and alone, with prayer as my only security net. But, even the Holy Mother, could not give me the solace I needed.

No, what I needed, I discovered was a break from the 24 x 7 responsibility of child-raising. I needed that time to realize that I’d let my thoughts run amuck and that I’d given my body no outlet for my thoughts. Without the children here, I began to recognize the irrational nature of my thoughts and slowly I began to reign them in. But, it took work, and I read something that really helped. It was such simple advice, but the most helpful I ever read. It said, “Your mind can only truly concentrate on one thought at a time.” And, I took that and ran with it, slowly replacing every worry, every unnerving thought with peaceful, calming, secure thoughts.

I also gave my body the outlet that it needed. I began a workout program in earnest, pushing myself until exhaustion so that my body had something to do with my anxious energy. I became addicted to the calm after a workout, and the peace that permeated my body because it’d been given an opportunity to transform that anxious energy and release it. I’ve always been a runner for that very reason, but being a single mom with a sick boy, you don’t have the luxury of heading out for a run. So, all winter my body had not had an outlet for my anxious, dire thoughts.

This process took weeks and the transformation was subtle. But, one day, I found myself going to the New York Times and diving into the headlines again, ravenous for world news. When the headlines appeared on my Yahoo browser or CNN, I didn’t immediately flip away from them; instead I read them with compassion and empathy, but not with irrational fear.  When I crawled into bed at night, I let go of my worry, releasing it in prayer and slept soundly.

Through this process, I found a peace that has remained, a peace that permeates not only me, but this house and my children. It is a gift that I am able to give to them and I am grateful. I’ve always believed in the healing power of the mind and body, as well as the interconnectedness. The journey I made over the course of seven weeks convinced me of how deep this connection is. So, while the time away from my children was unbearable at times, it also was necessary for my own healing.

I can now say that I have let go of fear and worry; as any mother will tell you – both, significant accomplishments.  Peace be with you.

 

Fire Eulogy

The silver-black embers cradled my thoughts, which I’d carefully composed, and then tossed into the orange fiery glow.

 

I stood reverently above, staring, as the paper curled, folded, blackened, and lifted into the gray smoke above.

 

“May the Montana winds carry these ashes, and by one of God’s miracles, touch yours.” That’s what I’d written to my dear, dead friend.

 

I stood there a long time, waiting for the emotion to come. I’d invited it. I was ready to grieve.

But the grief didn’t come, so I sat back down on the picnic table seat and took a long, slow swig of lukewarm Miller beer. It was camping beer. I’d picked it up at “The Fort” in Big Timber before heading up the Boulder River.

The day was hot. Bella, my 12-year-old yellow lab, and I had spent the morning on the prairie – in Rapelje – to meet some friends and watch a mountain bike race.

I was antsy. The passing thunderstorm and heat played on my nerves.

All I wanted – needed – was to get out of there. Get next to one of Montana’s rivers and I’d be fine.

I felt it when we pulled up to the banks of the Boulder. The sound of the rushing water, the wind blowing across the Crazies, the sun on my shoulders – Mother Montana was working it out of me, like an expert masseuse.

We’d taken the top off the Jeep before leaving Rapelje and arrived hot. After wading in the river, we crawled in back for a nap.

Waking up, I looked at Bella and said, “Shoot, no reason to go home – nobody waiting for us there.”

The dry grasses and twigs I gathered for the fire lit in an instant, thanks to the wind. I carved up a stick and carelessly roasted two hot dogs till they were black and scarred, one for each of us.

The rippling song of the aspens in the afternoon breeze made me think of her.

I’d gotten a call a week ago from my lifelong friend. “She passed away,” she said in a heavy, flat tone on my voicemail, “I can’t believe it.”

We both had guilt. Our mutual friend for many years had slipped into alcoholism and our friendship had slipped away with it. Too many late-night drunken calls had tested the bounds of what we’d tolerate.

“I wondered if you called me to say goodbye? Did I not pick up?” I’d scrawled in the eulogy I never gave.

Regret coursed through my veins, like time I’d never be able to recapture.

I felt the pulse of life brush across my sunburned shoulders and stared at the churning milky brown river rushing by.

“Where is my pulse?” I brooded.

- In memory of Sharon Warning, a dear friend.