I won't get to see my Mom this summer which means more than a year will pass before we stand in the same space. Before we get to touch and embrace. I can't think about this fact for too long without wanting to weep.
(Photo from my parents visit last summer.)
My parents planned to come to Seward for the 4th of July and our classic Mt. Marathon race but Covid 19 thwarted our plans. Not only are my parents not coming, but Mt Marathon festivities have been postponed till Labor Day or beyond.
I know we are not alone with our reunions disrupted, vacations erased from calendar pages. Most of the world pressed pause...and together we wait for understanding about the next phase.
We hope to visit the East Coast and my family for Thanksgiving, but nothing about this Fall feels dependable.
What is dependable?
Where can I plant my feet? Where can I hang my hat? If I shoot a star, can I still visualize a place for it to land?
As a kid, I spent hours playing outside unsupervised, just a gaggle of children making up games and stories in the fields and woods behind our homes. We lived on a school campus, so though we felt wild and free, clear boundaries kept us safe as we scrambled around the creek, raced through the hallways, or climbed old Oak trees.
This balance between security and freedom created the perfect medium for us to grow, and launched us out of childhood with strong roots and stellar wings.
As we navigate through this pandemic, may we all somehow find that stable point between safety and independence, between protection and letting go.
I'm not sure what this looks like, but I know we'll need to weave our grief into the fabric of the future and blanket our communities with kindness, hope, opportunity and love.
I often miss the simplicity of my childhood and I always miss my Mom and Dad.
FaceTime is not the same as walking side by side along a sandy shore. I wish we lived closer, but even if we did, during this Corona virus time, we'd be forced to remain apart.
Elias mostly understands that we can't socialize, but still says, almost every day: "Next time Nana and Papa are here..." Or "Next time Grandma and Pop come over...."
Salt in the wounds of social distancing. Our boy who gets it but doesn't.
And then there's Olive, finally big enough to bike off on her own to meet friends down the hill; just this past week we let her go and she stayed out of contact for hours as she explored our rocky coast with neighbor kids.
She's ready to jump---but will there be a soft mossy spot to break her fall? Will her wings glide through the present uncertainty to a future that will hold her just enough so she can grow?
Motherhood remains the impossible cloak, one we can both never disrobe and never wear just right. Always striving for the perfect fit in a land of imperfection--our arms are never long enough, control just out of reach, and our eyes either see too much, or too little, yet we can never close them, even when all we crave is sleep.
But there is comfort and ease in that three-letter word "Mom" and something far more dependable than the months ahead. My Mom, Susan Heath Everett, will always be my Mom-- just as I will always be Mom to Elias and Olive.
No pandemic can cancel that.
Covid 19 can't negate the love we hold for our families, both by blood and our chosen ones.
That's where I'll hang my hat.
Happy Mother's Day all!
Christie, I was just thinking about how 'Following Elias' will be a forever gift to your kids. Your writing is indeed a gift to all your readers.
Posted by: Greta | 05/10/2020 at 09:26 PM