It's quiet. This time between always is. I'm up to take my eldest to the airport. We just celebrated his 38th birthday a few hours ago. And that is a miracle in and of itself.
He came into this world with a host of health issues that have required multiple surgeries and procedures through the years, the last just a few weeks ago. He needs a complete rebuild of a vital system but is trying to put it off with patch jobs until school is over. I'm not happy about that, but it is his decision. His dreams. His life.
The possibility of his death has always been a shadow in the back of the mind, a fear tucked away in the heart.
And yet, he goes on. We all go on. His courage leaves me breathless. His caring equally so.
He's in nursing school and just finished the hardest, only a few left standing, semester with a B average. That "B" would be an A in any other semester. In spite of illness and surgery he finished with flying colors. In spite of everything he carries, he keeps fighting to make a difference, to matter in a society that values him and those like him far too little.
The same is true for my partner of over twenty years. He's many things. A poet. A wood turner. A jokester. A pilgrim. And a disabled Viet Vet. He had surgery for prostate cancer eight years ago. They didn't get it all. That's the latest news this holiday season.
So here I sit. It's five in the morning and I've returned from dropping my son off at the airport carrying a bag full of medication, and a sinus infection on top of everything else.
Here I sit - desperate for the sunrise, a chorus of bird song singing up the day.
Here I sit - unable to give those I love what I would above all else: health, peace, lives not defined by far too much pain and struggle.
Here I sit - knowing I've begun the long goodby to my partner, poet, wood turner, jokester, fellow parent and grand parent.
Here I sit - wishing I could do anything but this.
Here I sit - thinking of my flawed, beautiful, brave, men and wanting to hold them safe for forever.
And I can't. None of us can. All we can do is help them fly. All we can do is allow ourselves the time to howl at the night sky.
This holiday season hold those you love close. Support their dreams. Find your own. Don't worry about the constant soulless advertisements. Don't allow budget constraints to leave you feeling trapped and guilty. It isn't presents beneath the tree that matters. It is you. It's those you love. It is all of us together doing this spiral dance of life.
Be thankful for those you love, for dreams that can become real, for all that you are. There are gifts in each day if we but notice. A loved one's smile. A chance to comfort. The time to listen. The birds singing up the sun. The sunset's colors. The spiral dance of the stars.
Each moment matters, this time of year and all the year.
These too short dark days are drawing to a close. Soon, the hours of sun light will grow longer and the days stretch into warmth. In the midst of darkness is always the promise of light.
That is the hope as I sit writing to you, waiting for the sun rise, thinking of my child flying high above the slumbering earth.
That is the hope as I watch my Viet Vet grow too thin and frail.
That is the hope - knowing how much they, you, this beautiful blue world matters.
Hold on to what is good even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe even if it is a tree which stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do even if it is a long way from here.
Hold on to life even when it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand even when I have gone away from you.
~ Pueblo Blessing
h/t to the wonderful JaxDem for the Pueblo Blessing