Goodbye We Said.

This was the weekend of ashes.  It was a collections of hellos, how are yous and goodbyes.  We ate and ate and ate and walked and collected; held hands and hugged.  Closed our eyes and breathed.  Chased and laughed and fell.  We gathered.  We remembered.  We celebrated.  And there were tears, for without her we would not all know each other, and she was nowhere to be seen, but in our memories.

I can remember after she died so suddenly, going to the funeral home to say goodbye.  To see the remains of her body.  I remember feeling so scared to feel her being cold to the touch.  Her hands sat there, so small and soft and I held them.  I remember the small hairs on her upper lip, how they caught the light.  The softness of her skin and the firmness of her jaw.  I remember the tears that fell so continuously in those weeks, ready and waiting, dropping and filling tissue upon tissue.  The endless hugs from waiting arms to catch this daughter as she fell.

Eventually the tears dried.  The grief subsided to the warm rays of spring.  There was a compartment made for hedgehog collections, baby powder and flower patterns.  Life continued and I continued and managed to step forward out from under the sorrow.  Out from under the cloud cover and into the sunlight, into the growth of my gardens on cold mornings and into the passage of time helping me to let go.

As the baby grew inside of me and I could feel it's movements getting stronger by the day it made me long for her calls.  As the tomatoes came into season I wished I could here her tell me about making her favorite tomato tart.  I wanted to hear the stories of what came into season at the market in Brunswick and who she had run into there.  I long for the excited chatter of pregnancy shared between a daughter and her mother.  And as Cecilia grows and chatters and tells stories of her own, creating elaborate scenarios and games I long for the joy and sparkle in my mother's eye as she gets down on the floor once again to play a game, or do a craft together.  I feel so much sadness that they will not know one another like that.

So her remains were poured into the bay yesterday, 9 months and 22 days after her death.  It was a place she loved. 

And I... I released a bit more this day.

Thursday,

This must be the place.

Wednesday,

Tuesday,

Monday,

Sunday Morning,

It's So Quiet Here

Two mornings in a row our little girl is out the door before 7:30.  Off to her own school, her own life, her own experience.  It is a very clear separation for this Mama-Daughter team and my heart begins to pang for her in the quiet moments.  Off she goes carrying her lunchbox, shoes on her feet, 3 hats in her hands; she doesn't look back.  "Bye Mumma."

Our separation was deliberate.  One, for her to be able to better explore the world; which she is just about bursting at the seams to be out in.  Two, for me to have some time and space in caring for myself and our home as well as helping with Buying Club Day.  And Three, to prepare ourselves for the new baby.  Our separation is of course not only physical, but also allows us to healthily grow towards emotionally independence.

Oh! And I have these two glorious days to myself.  I can be silent, I can be loud, I can work or I can rest.  To enter Fall with this new rhythm, this new schedule feels like a gift.  I have been so tired and so full in caring for our sweet and trying girl these last years that this window of time allows me to regroup.  To recenter.  To create a swiftness to my time and restore a bit of my internal grace.  I am thankful for these sweet moments of silence; and it prepares me all the better for early morning pancakes, hugs on the stairs and gathering my strength for a winter of newness.

Inhale.  Exhale.  Calm.

Why I'm Voting Yes on One....

It still seems like segregation, like a closing of the mind, like hatred and bigotry.  There is little else to feel when a person closes their eyes to you simply because of a rainbow flag.  You are not equal to me.  You do not deserve respect, honor or decency because you are different than me.  That's what I hear and see and feel when I'm fighting for equal rights.  It feels foreign to me, it feels like a wall and it feels horrible.

I am a woman who has found herself primarily in heterosexual relationships for my adult life.  My life partner happens to be a man, but I have a loved a woman, I have had relationships with women.  I have contemplated who would carry our child where we to build a family and I imagine we would have wanted to have the same civil rights as any other family. 

A civil union is not a marriage, the rights of committed partners disappear in a medical scenario, or in death.  That feels wrong to me that people who love one another wouldn't be allowed to care for one another on a death bed, could not make medical decisions for the other.  I can't imagine the devastation I would feel should my husband fall ill and I had no rights.  Because the agreement to marry another person assigns them as your next of kin.  It is a civil recognition not only of love, but the gift of respect and trust of another human being.

When Rafi and I were pregnant with Cecilia we got married, very quietly, in the woods, together.  We made that commitment to one another that we would be life partners, it was simple, easy and honest for us.  We called our parents when we got home and told them; this was not recognized, this was not a true marriage and they certainly did not accept it as such.  So we had a wedding, the ceremony was completely secular, there was music, poetry and words of beauty spoken to one another.  We agreed to care for one another and our family.  It was honest, sweet and there were a lot of people there agreeing to help us in our marriage.

And quite honestly for the two of us this ceremony made a huge difference in the way we relate to one another.  I am confident that when the roller coaster of life takes over and we are having hard years in our marriage our family and friends will bring us back to that day.  They will recall a memory from our commitment ceremony and remind us of why we married one another.  I believe that in an emotional context community recognition of our union has been important to our marriage.

And when people say that it's not right in a religious context, I want to remind them that God is not involved in this decision.  God was not a piece of our ceremony.  We had a Justice Of The Peace, there were several signatures exchanged and $40 was paid to The State of Maine.  That's it, that's all, if I don't need a church's permission to get married, why should anyone else?

I choose love over and over and over again, and I will continue to choose acceptance.  And that is why I'm voting YES on November 6th in Support of everyone's Freedom to Marry.

All In A Morning Of Food Preservation!

 

Low Sugar Blackberry Jam, from my parents own blackberries.

Roasted Cherry Tomatoes for the freezer.

Pickled Hot Peppers for sandwiches, chilis and nacho topping.

The Roma Tomatoes arrive next week, just wait and see what happens then!

Around Our Home

There is a quietness.

Homegrown, homemade fermented pickles have jsut come out of the crock.

We have an injured chicken in quarantine in the chicken tractor on the back lawn.

There is a shuffling of possessions and furniture as I welcome a new season.

Plenty to unpack, organize and put away.

Ce is off on her first adventure away from home... preschool!

However there is plenty to do with this free morning.

What are you doing with your quiet moments these days?

The Quiet Is Coming...

August has fled us and here we embrace September, with it comes a rainy day,  kids in school, rearrangement of furniture (and minds) and time to get back to the details.  Space to be alone together.  A light schedule and routine begin to reclaim our time.  And we feel thankful for all of the details.

And we walk forward into the cold weather, dark evenings and quiet days knowing full well that when it was hot and the sun was shining, we lived fully.  We were busy and full, loud and engaged, little social butterflies.  So quietly, quietly we embrace autumn with our fingertips, our woolen layers and the comforter comes back on to the bed.