Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Morning Thoughts

I woke at 3:00 this morning and no matter what I did, how I breathed, which way I tossed or turned, I couldn't fall back asleep. When the Mexican radio station got so bad in my head I decided to just get up ... pull those warm covers back and crawl out of bed at 4:00. Ella gave a big sigh and put her head back down .. "this again? I thought we were done with this."

The stars this morning are incredibly brilliant. Even here in the suburbs where my neighbors like to light up the night with their outdoor lights and all these street lights blaring - these stars are still outshining all this white light pollution. I took a few moments to stand in my bedroom window and just gasp at the overhead display; Orion's Belt, the Big Dipper tilted sideways and draining the cauldron, it's handle arching towards the earth. "Arc to Arcturus" - a saying used to help find the star Arcturus, which is below the horizon this morning. But Venus, that morning planet, is literally twinkling with all five points distinct and bright in this black early morning sky.

February seven marked nine months. Nine months. A human being is formed in the uterus and ready to come into this world in that amount of time. Nine months, and there has been some healing - I can focus on reading a book now, but I still can't quite organize my life. I've asked my Blah-Blah Sisterhood to step in and help me get some of the piles around the house either moved out or put away since I am crippled around these tasks. My youngest sister told me that rearranging my stuff and moving a lot of Jim's things out is also rearranging my life .... and with that comes new hits of reality of just what this means and how big it truly is.

Damn, my littlest sister can be so wise sometimes!

I'm watching Venus move across the sky. Soon I'll begin to see that thin line of light on the horizon as the sun pokes it's first rays up out of the Atlantic. Another day.

This morning, while I still thought I might fight the chatter that had taken over my consciousness, I lay in my bed looking out the window at the pin points of light in the sky and just asked, "Is this it now? Is this truly the plan you have for me? Is there something else I should be doing? Somewhere else I should be going? Someone else I should be meeting? Should I be letting go and worrying less, trusting more? ... you gotta admit, my trust has been slightly shaken since this was not what I had planned on .... is there a plan for me now?"

Morning thoughts. They'll disappear with the emergence of the violet light as those rays come dripping out of the ocean and my day gets filled with all the doing that must be done ...

... ah, and here comes the sun.

Loving you all back,


  1. Oh, such a great observation! The thoughts we have in the dark are always so different in the light. Why? I mean, totally, completely different.

  2. Great writing in the moment, Mary. I often find that my clearest and best thoughts come to me in the middle of the night, but I don't usually get up to write them down. By morning, the greatness has been lost. I should take a lesson from your example. What you have written is powerful stuff.
    I can see that writing through your pain is a coping method for you - a catharsis. I love that word - catharsis. Writing is emotional for me, too. It comes from my heart, although I have never experienced the immense, tragic and gut-wrenching loss of half of my heart, as you have, and I hope I never do.
    Keep on sharing the written perspective of your pain and sorrow. It is poignant and real and revealing. For those of us who had a small part in your life a lifetime ago and are there only via the power of the internet now, keep on sharing your "pathway to healing" stories. Let the words pour from your hand onto paper as the tears pour from your eyes onto your written words. Writing is healthy; writing is healing. On nights like last night, when the elusive and healing sleep you yearn for lies on the other side of your story, writing is your best friend.

  3. I want to wrap you in warmth, bring the sun back to your days, indeed grief is a process that takes it's own time, it's own path. I hope you can feel how much you are loved in the world.