The crows are back, with their raucous calls, dropping signs of their pecan foraging. We’ve had some rainfall, dampening the falling leaves. It’s been a beautiful autumn, as the year rounds another corner, nearing its end.
This past week has been an exhausting one of minor and major upheavals, which put a temporary stop to my very slow writing momentum. Have you noticed (or is it just me) that the major upheavals seem to follow the fatigue of the minor?
Monday morning usually brings new beginnings, and so I sat in a brief meditation to discover where to put my energies. A poem (written a few weeks ago, needing some revision) rose to the surface. As you’ll see, it describes my own life’s ambiguities.
Ambiguous endings are so different from the sudden shock I experienced when facing the loss of a youngest brother some years ago.
There’s a book whose title says it all: Ambiguous Loss; learning to live with unresolved grief, by Pauline Boss. That term describes a place many of us share, whether mourning the state of our planet, or a failing parent, grandparent, child, sibling, partner, patient . . .
Treading Water A college requirement—— tread water to graduate—— prove you won’t drown when tossed into life. School offers wide lanes for laps, teaches the many strokes that keep body and mind in motion. You find a life’s partner, together you stretch your limits in deeper, more vigorous waters. While babies grow you might tread in place, but soon you’re paddling out again into more expansive crossings. The years bring hard kicks, uncertain seas, breathtaking sparkles—— until in retirement you swim relaxed—— with time to explore new oceans new lakes new streams unless— all too soon . . . your partner fails——stranding you both in uncharted waters——where you fight to stay afloat among storm-tossed waves. You know you must keep your head high. You know you are needed. You know but not when—— your partner will sink never to resurface. You too will dive deep. But the day will come when—— you’ll do more than choke on salt water, when—— you’ll stroke back into life’s currents.by Kate Harrington, 11/20/2023
Kate Harrington 