the pansy and the rose

On one particularly sad day several months ago, long after both boys were put to bed, I thought it safe to have myself a good cry. As I cried in pathetic fashion, face pressed into the Berber carpet, my eldest came in to check on things. I asked him to go back to bed, telling him that even Mom's have to fall apart sometimes. He left and returned again several minutes later, curling up beside me and wrapping me in his thin arms, saying, "Even Mom's need someone to hold them when they cry." I cried a while longer, then he said, "Mom, you have been a pansy all your life. Pansies are beautiful flowers. They are amazing. They can weather rains and snows, sleet and hail. You can step on a pansy and it just goes on blooming. But Mom, maybe it's time for you to be a rose. A rose is one of the most beautiful flowers and it smells wonderful, but it has thorns and if you step on a rose, you will bleed, it will literally TEAR UP YOUR FEET."
Now that's one profound eleven year old.

So I'm learning how to be a rose, sort of, a little at a time. Now, when I set strong boundaries, Owen will occasionally smile at me and say, "Good mom you're growing thorns".

Comments

Karuna said…

so true.
after all, roses are my favorite. they are so beautifully strong, meanwhile, still so serene and vibrant.
i love you.

April 17, 2012 at 3:24 PM

Anonymous said…

That is one amazing child you have. :)

April 18, 2012 at 3:36 PM

grief

Grief is defined as a deep or intense sorrow. I have been thinking a lot about grief, about it's wide and sticky reach, about the watery quality of it's absorption and the agonizing effort of swimming to shore. Intense sorrow happens. It is a part of life. Yet we press against it. We try to eradicate it. How? We encapsulate our grief in a story, thus effectively removing us from the immediacy of the pain. The mind promises salvation and begins to tell a story, over and over and over. We listen to the inner ramblings, the constant diatribe, the neurotic attempt to avoid the experience. When someone is hurting we listen to their story, we talk about it, we recount our own story, but we certainly don't jump in the waters of sadness, instead we sit on the bank of our familiar longing. Once, when I was floundering in deep grief, my youngest brother knelt next to me and held me for over an hour. He didn't speak. He didn't commiserate. He just jumped in the

a story recently shared by a friend

Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others, including Love. One day it was announced to the feelings that island would sink, so all constructed boats and left. Except for Love. Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to hold out until the last possible moment. When the island had almost sunk, Love decided to ask for help. Richness was passing by Love in a grand boat. Love said, "Richness, can you take me with you?" Richness answered, "No, I can't. There is a lot of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you." Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by in a beautiful vessel. "Vanity, please help me!" "I can't help you, Love. You are all wet and might damage my boat," Vanity answered. Sadness was close by so Love asked, "Sadness, let me go with you." "Oh . . . Love, I am so sad that I need to be by myself

Inosculation

I learned a new word today! Imagine my joy to discover "inosculation", to taste the word for the first time, rolling it around the soft interior of my mouth before speaking it aloud with a shiver of delight. I am a lover of trees, not metaphorically but literally. I linger beneath their branches. I tear up beside their solid beauty and revel in the rough, steady touch of bark beneath a wide sky. I love learning anything new about my beloveds and today I discovered inosculation , which literally means to unite intimately. Sometimes trees grow so close to each other that they rub up against one another. The friction of bark on bark wears away at the hard outer layers, revealing a tender, vulnerable, embryonic layer of life. If they stay in contact through the friction they will join together, uniting into a third thing.... a tree union. In such cases the trees share their life force with one another. I can think of no more perfect metaphor for beloved companions. Th

angelbirdflies

Search This Blog