Comfort & Joy
9.22.09
a
It is the first rain of the season. Midnight. And drops pelt the trees outside as a helicopter ruins the night calm and now, too, a fire truck's siren. I am awake, listening, when I hear a yell from my son's room and then "Mom!?" I listen again and hear footsteps, knowing it's not Noah who's asleep outside, but his dear friend Nathan who chose to avoid the wet smelly tent on this sleepover night. He calls out for his mother again as I grab a robe against my nakedness and go to find him. "Barbery?" he now calls, realizing where he is and my heart leaps for him. He's in the play room, looking skinny, and tiny and lost in the dark, his striped rugby shirt soft against his caramel colored skin. He just stands there as I go to investigate, his eyes still closed, his short hair rumpled. I rub his back and ask what's happened and he's quiet a moment, getting oriented now to this new awareness, a sleepover, his mother missing, but me here. I pat his head, rub his shoulders some more as I ask now if he needs a drink. He shakes his head, looking limp, this little power house who never stops talking and moving during the day. "Sometimes, I have bad dreams, " he says. "Yes, that happens. Do you want to tell me about it" "No," he replies a little calmer now as I lead him back to my son's bed. He shuffles as I hold his back, a kid whose parents I never see hug or caress or endear him. I help him crawl back into the sheets and pull the covers up over him, put Noah's funny neck pillow on his head, "for protection," I say. He lets me tuck him in, something unusual in that I always see him on top of the covers. I keep rubbing his back but he's already breathing deeply and my eyes well with tears at this gift, this opportunity to soothe another soul. A little boy is now asleep again, his night fear assuaged and my presence has made a small diference in the world.
I don't know why it makes me cry, this moment in time. There is so much I am unable to do to make the world a right place. I have loved people well, but seemingly not well enough for a few whom I have lost. I cannot take away my sister's pain, or my husband's cold or my daughter's hurt feelings or a friends confusion. I cannot fix my clients in their quest for better health and I cannot be all things to all people. I cannot hold someone who does not want to be held and that is one of life's biggest tragedies. To love and not be able to make whole.
Lady Di felt this was her role in life, to comfort. So did Mothere Theresa. So many of us in the world need to hand out tissues, offer hugs, listen to stories of pain and longing, be there on the other end of the line. We feel alive when we give in this way, when we see someone move from lost to found, from alone to heard. This means we are here.
Hanah and I sat with her on my lap tonight, sucking each other's thumbs like babies. We laughed and looked deeply into each other's eyes, nose to nose as we so often do, skin to skin. I sniff the top of her head and it smells like the back of my husband's neck and the circle feels complete. He is in her as am I and she is the best of us both.
I am so fortunate, that I could have this moment to soothe another. These connections make me feel I am truly here, when I can touch and be touched by another's humanity, be it loneliness or joy. A hug, a handshake, a kiss, a simple touch with a smile to say it's okay. In this midnight hour, it matters not whose mother comes to your side, as long as she comes. And stays a bit, long enough to bat away the empty night.
a
It is the first rain of the season. Midnight. And drops pelt the trees outside as a helicopter ruins the night calm and now, too, a fire truck's siren. I am awake, listening, when I hear a yell from my son's room and then "Mom!?" I listen again and hear footsteps, knowing it's not Noah who's asleep outside, but his dear friend Nathan who chose to avoid the wet smelly tent on this sleepover night. He calls out for his mother again as I grab a robe against my nakedness and go to find him. "Barbery?" he now calls, realizing where he is and my heart leaps for him. He's in the play room, looking skinny, and tiny and lost in the dark, his striped rugby shirt soft against his caramel colored skin. He just stands there as I go to investigate, his eyes still closed, his short hair rumpled. I rub his back and ask what's happened and he's quiet a moment, getting oriented now to this new awareness, a sleepover, his mother missing, but me here. I pat his head, rub his shoulders some more as I ask now if he needs a drink. He shakes his head, looking limp, this little power house who never stops talking and moving during the day. "Sometimes, I have bad dreams, " he says. "Yes, that happens. Do you want to tell me about it" "No," he replies a little calmer now as I lead him back to my son's bed. He shuffles as I hold his back, a kid whose parents I never see hug or caress or endear him. I help him crawl back into the sheets and pull the covers up over him, put Noah's funny neck pillow on his head, "for protection," I say. He lets me tuck him in, something unusual in that I always see him on top of the covers. I keep rubbing his back but he's already breathing deeply and my eyes well with tears at this gift, this opportunity to soothe another soul. A little boy is now asleep again, his night fear assuaged and my presence has made a small diference in the world.
I don't know why it makes me cry, this moment in time. There is so much I am unable to do to make the world a right place. I have loved people well, but seemingly not well enough for a few whom I have lost. I cannot take away my sister's pain, or my husband's cold or my daughter's hurt feelings or a friends confusion. I cannot fix my clients in their quest for better health and I cannot be all things to all people. I cannot hold someone who does not want to be held and that is one of life's biggest tragedies. To love and not be able to make whole.
Lady Di felt this was her role in life, to comfort. So did Mothere Theresa. So many of us in the world need to hand out tissues, offer hugs, listen to stories of pain and longing, be there on the other end of the line. We feel alive when we give in this way, when we see someone move from lost to found, from alone to heard. This means we are here.
Hanah and I sat with her on my lap tonight, sucking each other's thumbs like babies. We laughed and looked deeply into each other's eyes, nose to nose as we so often do, skin to skin. I sniff the top of her head and it smells like the back of my husband's neck and the circle feels complete. He is in her as am I and she is the best of us both.
I am so fortunate, that I could have this moment to soothe another. These connections make me feel I am truly here, when I can touch and be touched by another's humanity, be it loneliness or joy. A hug, a handshake, a kiss, a simple touch with a smile to say it's okay. In this midnight hour, it matters not whose mother comes to your side, as long as she comes. And stays a bit, long enough to bat away the empty night.
posted by Barbery at 12:15 AM
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