A family friend wrote this morning, noting the cryptic nature and confusing 1st and 3rd person presentation of my latest blog posts. Where is Emily the person vs Emily the poet, he asked? Good questions; they make sense. I'm stepping out of poetry for a moment, reluctantly, because poetry has kept me alive the past 6 days. When the "blood and bread" of my life came crumbling, I had description and memory only. My desiring will produced nothing. Couldn't write about my mother: her rapid decline, the emergency procedures, the fear in her face on Christmas Eve, or the tears in her eyes on Christmas Day. Couldn't write about James' love sustaining me through it all. Revelation needs mediation. So I wrote poems about everything else, because there were/are no mediating words to accurately depict what's been revealed. It's apophatic. I scribbled notes in the back of my continental philosophy text while watching her sleep. Perhaps I'll write a poem about it 2 years from now. Maybe 3. All I know is powerlessness. There is nothing on Earth to remind of life's fragility and one's own lack of control like the witnessing of the Other's pain. There was nothing I could do but leave work & drive (fast). Nothing I could do but sing and pray. Nothing I could do but text my friends and ask for help. Nothing I could do but touch her hand and whisper encouragement. Nothing I could do in her empty house but get lost in the poetic enterprise. Please forgive me the abstraction. I needed to get lost in order to show up. It's all I could do.
P.S. Things are, momentarily, looking up. She might just make it. Thank you, all of you, soul-children, faithful friends, for the generosity and kindness you've shared. G-d is what you've given. Please leave comments; I need to read/see/hear you all the more at this time, "for thou art with me."
Selah~Ejoye
3 comments:
In the manner of my prayer, you and yours have been on my mind. Constantly. The pastor at Christmas Eve asked us to remember and pray for those whose Christmases are complicated, painful, hard...you and your mother were wrapped in my mind in the church pew of my childhood. Indeed, most of the time all we can do is witness each other's pain and suffering. I have been trying to witness from thousands of miles. I hope to god that there have been moments where you have felt wrapped in love.
You're in our prayers all the time - you and your mom. We're here, all over the world, asking for something or someone to wrap loving arms around you, smooth your brows, hold you up when you can't stand (or provide a comfortable chair or bed to collapse into). I know this must be really hard for you, Emily. You are loved, for what it's worth.
Amen to what has been said. God has created each one of us unique. And acceptable. And loved. Thus, each has her or his own way to express feelings and deal with life's challenges. Better to "air and err" than to contain and repress, for fear that the process is not being done "right." Everything you do and say is part of the healing.
God bless both you and Mom.
Steve
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