Charlie's Moon

There are these small moments in time when a gift comes to us so unexpectedly and yet so unbelievably timely that it's simply worth sharing. As I've said before, words are my grace. When everything goes dark, I fall back on words - notes, emails, letters, texts from family and friends, old birthday and anniversary cards from John, poems, chapters, even sentences, from my favorite novels, and immediately I'm filled with comfort, a memory and ultimately with love. Ellen shared this poem with me this evening that she wrote for Charlie, and while the moment was small and Charlie will surely have no immediate memory of this particular morning, the message, the love, is so deep and rich. It's a different love than John and I can give him, but it's just as important. I want him to hold on to this love forever - know it, own it, feel embraced by it. Lucky for him, through her words he will.

Charlie's Moon

by Ellen Wahlers

Early morning.

Toddler and grandmother climb the stairs,

hand in hand, with determined anticipation.

Reaching the door, noses press to the glass; eyes squinting through dark shadows.

A chirp, a rustle of withered leaves across the porch, and a flickering

of distant lamps.

A click of the lock, he opens and shoves the door wide.

They pause and sigh in unison.

"Newspaper?" he whispers.

"Yes Charlie, forward to the top of the hill."

A sergeant's command.

Together, marching on tiptoes, they climb the driveway.

Necks stretch as eyes gaze upward.....

A burst of giggles, as Charlie coos, "moon,moon,moon."

Reaching top, the two stand

in perfect prayer.....breathing, swaying, smiling.

wishing the moon would speak.

Above, the yellow sphere sits in

its navy blanket of stars, so content

with his night's work.

Dependable. Promising.

The pair relax in moon's certainty.

Rocking cold feet against uneven

concrete, they hesitate, not moving.

An ache moves through her

as she squeezes his warm hand,

and suggests they go.

But Charlie pulls and reaches: chanting,

"moon,moon,moon."

She waits.  Finally offering a newspaper

in exchange for the moon.

A hesitation and a longing glance upward.

Charlie takes the plastic wrapped paper,

holding her hand, he looks back, gazing

with love at the moon.

"Goodbye moon.'

Descending the driveway, she mumbles uncertainties

wrapped within the news, tucked under Charlies arm.

She bends and hugs the boy, whispering, "At least we know

moon will be here tomorrow"

Charlie pauses,

gives one final backward glance, and responds

with a trusting..... "yes."

"Hope is a Thing with Feathers"

Words are my solace. Words are my grace. I've shared Dickinson's words over and over in times of comfort, times of sadness and times of great love, but now, I'm reminding myself of their meaning, combing through them for comfort and laying them on my heart. 

In September we'll celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary, and just after the first of the year, we found out that celebration would include a new family member. Shock doesn't even start to describe it. A baby. A sibling. A full house. I couldn't quite wrap my mind around being pregnant right now, but as always, John is the ever-present optimist and assured me we'd figure it out. We're great. We went to the doctor and spotted that little blob immediately. We started telling family and close friends and went back to the doctor watching for that beautiful heartbeat, and there it was. I was certain the planner in me was getting a real lesson in letting go. But somewhere around week 9, my energy came back, my sickness waned, and my clothes started to fit. I got quiet about my pregnancy leaving the remainder of our untold family and close friends in the dark. I finally confessed to John that things weren't feeling quite right, but in my next breath, I was reassuring us that second pregnancies are just different. Scheduled to go back at 11 weeks, I decided to trust my body and relax. 

By the start of week 10, I knew it was over, and while John was out of town, my body took ultimate control. I'm still not quite sure how to say it. What to say. To "lose a baby" sounds oddly irresponsible and to "miscarry" sounds so technical and heavy, and then I'm not sure where that lands us. 

I know that I've never been more grateful for my husband. Never more grateful for our sweet Charlie and the ease in which he came into this world. Never more grateful for our friends, especially Melissa who rushed me to the hospital, cried with me, laughed inappropriately with me and saw way too much of me but never ever thought to leave. And our family. Geez. Family sometimes doesn't listen. They show up. They lay in bed with you, cry with you, and love you without condition. Family understands that you just might not be able to be a mom today, and even though they're exhausted and emotionally drained, they whisk your child away for a couple days of fun and love. Words will never be enough to thank Fred and Ellen for the peace they provided me. The love. But as in my first pregnancy, I learned this is just what family does. 

Most days we are okay - we laugh, we joke, we enjoy our sweet little family, but the doubt, questioning and guilt has set in this last week. The doubt of if I only could have worried less, been more peaceful, more centered maybe this sweet babe would have had a better chance. The running internal question of will my body be able to carry a baby again, will we be able to give Charlie the magic of a sibling? The guilt of my body taking a baby away from John, a sibling away from Charlie, a grandchild away from our parents and a niece/nephew away from my siblings. I can't quite put a finger on this guilt, these questions, or this doubt, but they creep up slowly and flood me suddenly - at the grocery store, museum, and almost always in the car.

I know I want to settle in a place of hope, a place of peace, so until I'm there on my own, I'll keep reminding myself of these words. Keep reassuring myself that we're exactly where we're meant to be. Love was drained out of us momentarily but our hope remains.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

- Emily Dickinson

22 Months!

We talked today about how you're two months away from your 2nd birthday, and I kinda can't even believe it. Everyone keeps asking what we're doing for your party, and admittedly, I don't even want to throw you one. You were such a sourpuss at your first birthday party I vowed never again. Now that seems like a tough promise to keep. You're really cute and funny and smart, and I think I'll give you a do-over. 

Running. You're a natural. And it's true love. You refuse to sit in your stroller for walks now and insist on running while we walk Stan, and for the most part, you really do run the entire way. I normally bring your stroller and plop you in it for the last block or so because you start seriously wandering when you get tired, but we're kinda in awe of your ability. We don't have consistent sidewalks, so everytime before we set out, we have a quick conversation about using your ears and listening when I tell you a car's coming. You always say, Stop! Grass! in a yeah, yeah, yeah Mom, we've been over this before tone. And so far, no incidences. I actually wonder if I've taken the car thing too far because at the zoo a super-sized golf cart came around the corner and you darted to a tiny patch of grass looking like you just escaped death. We'll work on that. 

Reading. Oh nothing warms my heart more than your love for books, and this month we've really been into storytime at the library. You love Miss Elizabeth with her crazy puppets and silly songs and most of all for her stamps. She always gives you two, one on each hand, and you're obsessed. And watch out...when the wash off, devastation sets in deeply. You're seeming to get books on a different level lately too. We checked a book out called "Do Like a Duck Does," and it's all about a fox that's pretending to be a duck so he can essentially eat one of the ducklings, but the mama duck keeps catching him and making him prove he's a duck by putting him through all these tests which of course he fails. Anyway, I wasn't really expecting you to totally get what's going on, but you totally do. You get the worrisome parts and the funny parts all the same, and it's blowing my mind for some reason. You're so smart. 

You're obsessed with the outdoors - worms, rolly-pollies, dirt, rocks, water, flowers, bulldozers, trucks, etc. etc. Worms on your hand, worms on your legs, worms under rocks, worms everywhere. You are obsessed with your friends and want to see them all day everyday. We spent time at the zoo, at the park, and of course playing outside. I'm in love with your adventurous spirit and your independent nature. 

This month has brought out a bit of a love bug in you. You're so great at giving "big squeezes" and will run over and tackle us with hugs at random whims. Oh and you will smile on command. It's the cheesiest, fakest looking smile, but oh my, I'm in love. 

More than ever, I'm head over heels for you, little one. So grateful that you're mine. 

21 Months!

Sweet Charlie Brown, I totally let you down. You're 21 months, and we're having so much fun, but I totally forgot to write everything down. And now we're so close to 22, it seems silly to backtrack. 

Basically, we love you. You're still the coolest, sweetest, smartest and most independent kid we know, and we're so grateful to be your parents. 

This past month you had another haircut, your first sleepover, your first Austin "snow" and spent almost a week in Dallas. What a traveller you are. We've had birthday parties, storytime and lots of sweet time with friends and family. Life's pretty sweet with you around.