Five years ago, I wasn’t reverendmother, just mother. She made it happen.
Happy Birthday to little she-who-is!
from the archives…
On the eve of my daughter’s second birthday
Two years ago tonight
You woke me up in the dark morning.
You had done so once before,
without incident,
And many times since, too many to count,
all of them melted together into a single blurry sleepwalk—
But this time I remember.
I made us a cup of tea,
to see if you were serious.
Your morse code continued,
a long hard dash—pause. again and again,
a constant rhythm, but irregular too,
not a sine wave, but
quiet ocean endlessly kissing the shore.
Then all was still, and I rested briefly,
nestled in the first sigh of daybreak.
I woke, the day slanted on,
and still you would not conform to the clock,
moving instead in your own syncopation:
a 6/8 lilt, a 4/4 march, a 3/4 waltz—
but you were moving,
Meanwhile,
around the world,
candles were lit for your birth:
candles for Peace, Courage and Strength,
and other clichés I helplessly craved.
They flickered on coffee tables,
in dorm rooms and cubicles;
and a circle of women who already loved you
tended the tiny flames.
In the early evening,
the second act began with
a seismic shift,
a surge of water,
and more waiting,
waiting that was urgent,
breathless,
energizing.
A place was prepared,
and we went there, together,
and it was clean, and quiet, and dim.
As the channel widened,
The world narrowed.
There was only a room,
a soft cotton shirt,
and the patient eyes of your father,
in between
breakers pounding upon sand,
eroding away sharp-edged dunes.
And then, there was the final task:
and I’m ashamed to say,
you ceased to exist.
It was all about the work,
it was innate,
biological,
animal.
There was no you,
nor even me,
there was only unyielding
action, verbs with no nouns.
It took me a while to return.
Even after your cry
(should I have snapped back
then? I tried. I clawed through heavy dream air
but was still far away)—
even after a quick slippery embrace,
then a dance of efficient activity
with you in my peripheral vision,
I returned in pieces,
got reassembled, but slowly,
slower than I could have imagined.
But that is as it should be.
Whatever got left behind
I don’t need, and the patchwork
that is me now
is complete enough,
and strong enough,
strong,
enough.
18 Responses to “she’s five”
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Asides
» “If you like art, and you try it, you can’t stop doing it.” –little she-who-is
» Hanukkah begins this Sunday. Enjoy the best comedy piece on the Festival of Lights since Adam Sandler’s Hanukkah song.
» So….. offering envelopes. Still useful and worth the expense to churches, or hopelessly square and terribly 20th century?
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Congrats! Now you’re the mother of “three under six.” That doesn’t sound so hard, does it?
Beautiful girl, beautiful poem, beautiful family.
Happy Birthday, little sweetheart.
Congrats. Many hopes for many, many more wonderful milestones.
Oh, happy birthday, little C! (Is next year kindergarten???)
Happy Birthday sweet C! Lovely picture.
She has the best of both of you in this picture - fierce intelligence and tender heart. Happy birthday!
dam, that’s a good poem.
Happy Birthday, C and to your family….I remember when you were born, one of many new little ones. And the poem your mother wrote when you were two…what a gift. I love the line about the patient eyes of your father in between breaker pounding…it was there in the words that I imagined a family portrait of that moment for the three of you. I hope you had a wonderful day today.
Happy Birthday C, and to your mom too.
Yesterday I felt pleased that I had managed to keep a child alive for 5 years already!!
Happy birthday to C!
5 years ago, I got an early birthday present! She’s the gift that keeps on giving.
Cool!
An auntie couldn’t be more proud! She is more beautiful, personable, and captivating today than she was when I first fell in love with her at her Auntie Karin’s wedding!
She is radiant!
“Five years ago, I wasn’t reverendmother, just mother.”
weren’t you reverend, not mother…? am i missing something (wouldn’t be the first time)?
She was born my last semester of seminary. I had received a call (two weeks before she was born) but was not ordained yet.
Happy Birthday wishes!!
Beautiful post.
oh. and there it is. stand corrected.