I crouched close to the floor, tears forming rivers on my cheeks, soundless shouts eminating from somewhere deep in my belly. “They don’t tell you about this part,” I thought to myself. “No one mentions this part.”
Sam stood in front of me, crying as well, angry and screaming at me for crying.
It felt like we were the only two people alive in the world and I wondered if we would both soon be facing extinction.
Twenty four hours later I am reminded of how this space felt a similarity to the time of transition in labor, the time right before the baby makes its final descent into the waiting arms of the deliverer. It is a surreal time that doesn’t come up very often in childbirth books, either.
This morning I was awake a couple hours before the rest of my household would be stirring. Once I stopped resisting the call of awakeness, I was able to make my coffee, write my morning pages, wash dishes and even do a bit of reading.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh met me in Japan in the pages of her classic travel memoir, “North to the Orient.” She wrote of a lesson which she received from her Japanese host:
“The bamboo for prosperity, the pine for long life, the plum for courage.”
“Why the plum for courage?” I asked, picturing courage as a great oak.
“Yes, yes,” answered my Japanese friend. “The plum for courage because the plum puts forth blossoms while the snow is still on the ground.”
Those words ran out to meet me, reminding me of my time so close to the floor, my time of despair, my time of temporary hopelessness. The end of that time-on-the-floor came when I stood up. I breathed deeply. I wiped away Sam’s tears and hugged him back into comfort.
Like I told my Mom, “I had a tough, tough morning, but the good thing is it is the afternoon now.”
This time with Sam is my time to courageously put forth my blossoms even now, when there is still metaphoric snow on the ground and the soil is still frozen.
It won’t be like this forever.
I will never look at plum trees in the same way again.
Sam just laughed from the backyard. I laughed with him, in response.
The good news is… Sam is Sam.
Sam stood in front of me, crying as well, angry and screaming at me for crying.
It felt like we were the only two people alive in the world and I wondered if we would both soon be facing extinction.
Twenty four hours later I am reminded of how this space felt a similarity to the time of transition in labor, the time right before the baby makes its final descent into the waiting arms of the deliverer. It is a surreal time that doesn’t come up very often in childbirth books, either.
This morning I was awake a couple hours before the rest of my household would be stirring. Once I stopped resisting the call of awakeness, I was able to make my coffee, write my morning pages, wash dishes and even do a bit of reading.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh met me in Japan in the pages of her classic travel memoir, “North to the Orient.” She wrote of a lesson which she received from her Japanese host:
“The bamboo for prosperity, the pine for long life, the plum for courage.”
“Why the plum for courage?” I asked, picturing courage as a great oak.
“Yes, yes,” answered my Japanese friend. “The plum for courage because the plum puts forth blossoms while the snow is still on the ground.”
Those words ran out to meet me, reminding me of my time so close to the floor, my time of despair, my time of temporary hopelessness. The end of that time-on-the-floor came when I stood up. I breathed deeply. I wiped away Sam’s tears and hugged him back into comfort.
Like I told my Mom, “I had a tough, tough morning, but the good thing is it is the afternoon now.”
This time with Sam is my time to courageously put forth my blossoms even now, when there is still metaphoric snow on the ground and the soil is still frozen.
It won’t be like this forever.
I will never look at plum trees in the same way again.
Sam just laughed from the backyard. I laughed with him, in response.
The good news is… Sam is Sam.
Recent Comments