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Posts Tagged ‘hope’

Just keep going

“You haven’t thought of harming yourself?” the nurse asked with furrowed brow as she reviewed my questionnaire.

“No,” I said, smiling. “I’m depressed now, but I’m not at risk. I understand what this is and why it is, so I don’t put much stock in it.”

“I wish it were like that with me,” she replied.

“It took me lots of time.”

There have been many days during this pregnancy that I have wanted to hide in darkness and emerge only for birth. Read more…

A trip to Hiroshima

“I wish I could show you all the places I lived and visited in Japan,” I told my fiancee last night. “I wish that we could hop in the car and be there in an hour. But of course, for you to see these places, we’ll have to plan and save for years.”

It’s worth it. We will save, and I will someday show him the places I called home, even if I’m unable to locate most of the people who made the places feel like home. I’ll take him to the schoolyard where I once danced goofy in the rain on a school’s webcam to make him smile. I’ll show him the little market to which I used to bike on my rusty, thirty-year-old bicycle, and–if it still exists–the tiny school up in the mountains that continues to make appearances in my dreams.

fogmountains

Last night’s conversation still in mind, I read this morning an article on the lessons of Gettysburg. One particular paragraph talked about the strange sensation of piling off a tour bus and wondering what you’re supposed to do for amusement in such a place. The words evoked my own memory of such a visit: to Hiroshima. Read more…

Her Escape, Her Words

One month ago, I wrote about someone close to me who had just escaped an abusive relationship, thanks in part to wisdom gleaned from the pages of The Gift of Fear.

Then I bought de Becker's other books.

Today I wanted you to see how she is already growing and thriving in her new SoCal life. I imagined writing an update myself, but texted her to see if she’d want to write a part of the post. Did she ever! She wrote not the paragraph or two I anticipated, but an entire post about her recent struggles. I cried reading her words and seeing parts of the story not previously revealed to me, and found redoubled my gratitude she escaped. Read more…

The scars on our hearts

We laid side by side and discussed the end of our relationship.

There was no arguing. No crying. No screaming. No pleading. We were done, Anthony and I. We had gone our own ways months before; our words didn’t make truth but mirror it.

“Do we call it now, then?” I asked. “Or do we give it another week and see how we feel then?”

After several moments of reflection, Anthony replied, “Let’s give it a week.”

From authors to singers, from actors to painters, there are few artists whose works I consistently enjoy. I usually describe myself as liking works, not artists, with rare exceptions like Joss Whedon, Eric Kufs or P!nk.

P!nk has been a favorite since law school, when I began running to her fierce yet catchy tunes. I didn’t have to be or feel any one thing while listening to her music. I felt all of myself in it: sadness, anger, frustration, elation, hope.

And yet, having loved her music for a decade, I was still shocked to discover a few days ago just how much more deeply she could move me. Read more…

Too alight with love to care

“Mommy, you have pretty hair,” my three-year-old son told me as he reached to touch it.

“You do, too,” I replied.

“No, it’s not. It’s dark,” he said solemnly.

I tried not to show my alarm. “Who told you that?” I asked  as I reached to ruffle his hair.

Silence.

“Listen,” I said calmly despite the alarm still bubbling up within me. “You have beautiful, curly, dark hair. I wish I had your hair.”

“Oh.” Li’l D, no longer engaged in the conversation, got up and ran off toward more exciting endeavors. My heart remained stuck on those two jarring words: “It’s dark.”

I have no idea where Li’l D heard that “dark” is bad. I cannot undo his hearing it. But what I can do, and what I mean to do, is show him as he grows that misguided words are not all there is in this world. There is joy in abundance, beauty that cares naught for superficial distinctions, and the goodness of knowing that no matter what anyone else sees or says, there is a light inside each of us that demands to shine.

I will strive to teach him to see that light–in those who love him, those who dislike him for whatever reasons, and most of all, within himself.

If he can see it within himself, it won’t matter what anyone else sees.

He will be too alight with love to care.

Categories: Family, Love, Parenting, Teaching Tags: , , , , ,

Racist intent, sweet truth

I climbed out of the car, readying to free my son from his car seat, when I overheard the folks parked next to us.

“They’re black,” one man said derisively.

Said the other with equal derision as he glanced toward my son,  “That bodes well for the future.”

After a moment’s debate, I decided not to say anything. Because, no matter how the words were spoken, their truth is undeniable: our sweet children, being raised to see beyond our superficial differences, do indeed bode well for a future more full of love.

image

The future

Categories: Parenting, Reflections Tags: , , , ,

Fewer goodbyes to childhood cancer, or “My sunshine, my David”

I love many people, and I love many people greatly, but there is no one I love more intensely or completely than one little boy named David. If you read my blog, you have come to know David as “Li’l D.” He is my son, and—although I once dreaded the prospect of parenthood—my life has been a million times brighter since he entered it three years ago.

For this one blog, I cannot call David “Li’l D.” Because, you see, this is a post about the loss of children, and “the loss of children” translates in my mind to “the loss of David.” Not “Li’l D.” David.

David: my exuberant, bossy, compassionate chatterbox of a son. My David.

love

With my mom, a few months before she died

Last September, I learned that September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. I ignored most of the posts I saw on the matter, because paying attention to them meant paying attention to the fact my own son could someday be among them.

I will cross that bridge if I get there, I told myself.

It was January before I steeled myself to read Donna’s Cancer Story, a series documenting one brave, beautiful girl’s battle with cancer. As I read it and for days afterward, I bawled, I cursed the universe, and ultimately held David tighter as I imagined what it would be like to say goodbye to him having barely just said “hello, my sunshine.”

As this September rolled around, I thought about what it would mean to me. I knew I’d read Donna’s Cancer Story again, and share it for those like me who couldn’t bear the thought of reading it the first time around.

I didn’t know I’d find myself also reading Aidan’s Cancer Story, and compelled by the memory of both Donna Quirke Hornik and Aidan Manning to look more deeply into why pediatric cancer awareness is important not only on a personal, empathy-building level but on an extremely practical one.

Read more…

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