I'll eat you up I love you so

Every itty bitty boy needs a great big boy to adore.  For Julian, all things big-boy-wonderful start and end with Isaac.  Just look at those cousins: 

Marvelous Errors

Last night, as I was sleeping,

I dreamt – marvelous error! –

That I had a beehive

Here inside my heart.

And the golden bees

Were making white combs

And sweet honey

From my old failures.

- Antonio Machado, translated by Robert Bly

 

(Hanging Rock State Park, July 2010)

Knitting and the Stink Eye

Guess who has knitting fever?  Here's a hint, it's not me.

I had to snap those pictures with speed and stealth because my camara and I have been met with universal loathing around these parts lately.  Undaunted, I've decided to start collecting images for my new photo essay entitled "Cross-species Stink Eye."  What do you think?

Resilience

When did September happen?  Why is it that I can't remember August? For the past weeks (weeks that became months) I have hovered outside of it all, wondering if I would ever get the courage again to merge back into the busy traffic of things.  And then, just as all who loved me during this slow fearful time promised, things started to get better.  I went to see lovely Jeanette, who helped me hunt down those wounded thoughts in my mind that wouldn't let me get past the few minutes in July when I was convinced Isaac was gone from me forever.  Then, using EMDR (a technique I don't understand yet have still benefited from) she helped me build the more compassionate thoughts that lead to my favorite of all human traits - resilience.  What a gift.  I am back.  And I've started to take pictures again.  See?

Back in the saddle again:

Chasing chickens, an exercise in persistence:

Persistence paying off:

Broody Jane:

Atticus in flower pot:   

Me in a cat's eye.

Healing time

The doctors said that after a month (and today it has been a month) all would be healed.  Isaac's brain and body are strong again.  No more danger from an accidental head bump or hard fall.  We can continue as as we were before.  And Isaac agrees with those doctors.  He has been ready to forget all about his fall for several weeks now.  He is healed.  Just look at him this morning during his triumphant return to Saturday morning aikido:

 

  I'm finding, however, that one month is not sufficient healing time for my own injuries.  Those memories of watching Isaac fall, seeing him unresponsive when I called out to him, hearing his confused questions as he regained consciousness, and that long, long ambulance ride to the hospital.  Those memories still hold my heart so tightly sometimes that I feel my blood racing fast under my skin as if it all is happening still.  The strangest things knock me sideways these days.  When Isaac walks down our short driveway to check the mail, a chore he loves, I feel blown over.  What if someone is driving by? What if their attention wavers and they swerve even slightly? I cringe and shiver and hold my breath until he walks back toward me with his armful of junkmail, safe and whole still.  Sometimes even just watching him run as fast as he does almost knocks me flat with fear.  I want to ask him to slow down, be careful, walk gently, for me, please.  But I don't.  I keep the storms of panic tucked away for Isaac.  Don't get me wrong, I know he sees the shadows of my fears.  But for the most part those moments are mine alone.  Because he has healed, even if I have not.  In this thing, he is leading and in my own time, I hope I will follow.   

A rough day

For now, I'm going to say this little prayer and get some rest:

May I be happy just as I am.

May I be peaceful with what is happening.

May I be safe and healthy.

And take care of myself with ease.

Celebrating Nine Years

Dragon cake.

Pinata.

Candy.

Chaos.

Naked cousin.

Present from Grammy.

Love.