matters of the heart

It’s another beautiful day in the city, at least in the world outside myself. The sky is a startling pearly blue, not a single cloud dancing across the expanse of heaven. The air is crisp and cool, cold to skin that is accustomed to 90 degree weather on a daily basis. I shiver and snuggle deeper within my sweatshirt, thankful that my feet are actually covered this morning in a rare pair of tattered white socks. I sit quietly for a minute, trying to drown the worries running through my mind. Trying to find a moment of balance, of peace. It is not there, not here, not today.

Another dreaded phone call last night, my heart racing, pounding, feeling as if it might explode at any moment with the fear that her heart may not be strong enough. No longer able to postpone the 2 hour drive, the smell of hospital antiseptic, the tears that flow so endlessly when I see her frail body attached to too many machines. My mind replays my last conversation with her, both of our words smothered in tears, desperate reminders of our love for one another, despite anything in this world. My heart literally hurts when I think of my mama and my aunt, their fears and worries, the pain they have lived with for so many years. I think of their pleas to care for their mother, their tolerance of the brutal cruelty of a father that never gave them the love they deserve. I am haunted by his hatred and mesmerized by the strength of these three women. One en route to spend more sleepless nights in a hospital chair, tending to her mother’s every need. Another across the country, worried sick, sending love and hope across the many miles, terrified that her last visit may indeed have been the last. And then the one in the bed, her heart fighting against life, against death, against the pain she has known for too many years. And through all the years, none of them ever let go of their inner strength, that life-propelling force that kept their own hearts filled with love even as the bitter words of hatred have been flung against them.

I think of the distance that has been forced between my grandmamma and me for the past several years. I wonder if I could have forged the bridge that kept us separated, if I could have pushed through the negativity towards him and allowed myself to be closer to her. If I could have ignored the cruel words, the meanness, the hatred; if I could have pushed it all aside in order to spend more time by her side, helping my mama care for her mama. But it is not a time for wondering now. I cannot change the past few years. I can only choose to remember the times when I have sat with her, rubbing lotion gently across her bruised skin, cradling her face in my hands, telling her repeatedly how dearly I love her. And I can only trust that she knows. That she can feel my love for her, can see it, can know it deep inside her own heart.

It is time now to pack and get on the road. A trip both dreaded and anticipated. But I need to see her, to hold her face in my hands again, to remind her once again that she is indeed loved very deeply.

a day of solitude

It’s been a beloved day of solitude, the quiet of nature soothing my senses. Waking up cocooned in a mass of thick red corduroy, the feel of thin smooth black sheets gingerly touching my skin, I let the day begin unfolding at its own pace. No rush to get to school or work, no hurried shower or ringing of the phone. No TV blaring football, no radio hits of the 80’s urging me to get up and dance, just the silence of sleepiness and an inner peace I am just coming to know.

The sun has been shining since long before I awoke, its rays beaming down a gentle warmth uncommon to a September afternoon in Georgia. The breeze is faint, but visible as the emerald leaves wave ever so slightly from their perch upon the winding braches that snake across the skyline. I’ve spent the afternoon in the company of a good book and my thoughts, a quiet blissfulness growing steadily with the fading daylight.

It seems impossible to describe in words, these newfound feelings of contentment. There’s an element of excitement huddled in the background, but it’s a feeling of excitement different from what I’ve come to know over the years. There is no eager anticipation of some specified event, no hopes of thrills to come in the form of some particular adventure or experience. It’s just a calm, somewhat subdued, feeling of excitement in general. An excitement for each day, each moment, the newness and vibrancy I am unexpectedly finding in the world around me.

But it is not just the feel of lurking eagerness; it is a feeling of solace enveloping me in the quiet moments. It is an awareness of my existence as I breathe in the refreshing air encircling me. A comfort that leaves me feeling fulfilled and dare I say it….happy.

living dreams

It’s early here, the sky a dull, pale gray, barely lightened from the darkness of the night. The moon still hangs in a luminous sliver as the hidden sun rises behind the clouds opposite its counterpart. Even the birds are quiet this morning, burrowing into their nests, singing ever so gently and sparingly. The air is crisp and cool at 66 degrees, a chilly morning in September. With heavy eyes, I sit here in my sweatshirt, the damp breeze refreshing on my sleepy skin.

It is the moments like this one that remind me of all the beauty in the world. It is these moments that have begun to come more frequently in these past couple of weeks, reawakening my senses, offering more hope with each passing day.

I have not written much lately (or at least I have not posted very often) and for a while, I wondered what reason lay beneath the paucity of my words. I questioned whether is was the changes in my schedule, the adjustments to new ways of spending my days and nights, or was it simply that I had nothing to say? I know now why the words have not been coming as often…rather than writing, I have been living.

Of course writing and living can coexist and often do, even in my world. But lately, my world has begun to evolve…the words manifesting in actions or conversations, the solitude captured in moments of peace when no action is even necessary.

The seasons are beginning to change and I am still dreaming of falling amber leaves and weekend trips to the mountains. Of sitting fireside in the company of new friends and old, warming my body, coffee by morning, red wine by night. I am still dreaming of wrapping myself in chenille blankets as I get lost in books, reading stories of other lives and other places. But it is not all dreams these days.

As I sit here in the early morning, as the birds’ songs become more audible and the breeze quickens for just a moment, I am aware that even right now, I am living my dreams.

hanging changes

There's a pleasant chill in the air tonight, only the slightest hint of a cool breeze and yet it is enough. Sipping a mug of steamy herbal tea, I can feel the changes hanging heavy in the air around me. I am finding moments of peace in the solitude, pleasure in the silence and darkness of the night. Even as the chaos of a new semester lurks just beyond the darkness, I can still sense goodness on the path before me. I am eager for the change of seasons, excited to watch the abundant green foliage gradually turn to shades of crimson and gold. Eager to watch the leaves float downward in their dance of freedom, eager to drive to the mountains and hike across trails with leaves crunching underfoot. So much change I can feel in the air, so much goodness, and yet it is not quite here yet. So for now, for tonight, I will sip my herbal tea, let the cool breeze tickle my bare skin, and dream of the coming changes.