Skip to main content

Proud


The phone rang.
"Hello", I answered.
"Hi Mom", his voice replied.
My sons new big boy voice. My heart leapt, love seeping into every cell and creasing my face with joy.
"I've made a decision", he said. "I am done trying to be someone else. I am not my Dad. I am not just a Jennings. I am Owen and Owen is special. I have been bullying myself for a long time and bullies make you feel small. I am not a punk or a bully. I am special as I am." I choked back the tears rising into my throat. He went on, "I used to believe that God made all your choices for you. Now I believe that I have a will of my own and I can cast my own vote. I have decided to chart my own course and follow my own destiny. I can be an ordinary person or I can be a great man. I will be a great man by following my heart." My grin threatened to break free of my face and dance with the hummingbirds gathering red liquid from a feeder nearby. "I feel as if I have been on a great ship, lost in a typhoon for a very long time and now the storm is over, the sea is calm and I can see for miles around. I am going to chart my own course now, but I will always come home to you and I will always come home to my Dad." I cried now, swallowing the salty foam of sea spray and purpose. He was suddenly a man talking of politics and war, philosphy and hope. I was breathless. "I am gonna go now mom. Oh, by the way. I am not going to be mean to you on the phone anymore. It is time to end that Ice Age. I love my mom and that is that. Talk to you soon."
He is seven.
I am proud beyond the scope of words.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

FORGET ABOUT ‘HEALING’

Some days,  you just have to forget  about ‘healing’. You have to stop trying to feel better, trying to overcome your emotional wounds, or trying to be anywhere other than where you are. You have to embrace the day as it is. And you have to give yourself the most sacred permission of all: To shatter.  To break.  To be an ugly mess. To lean into a place of utter humility and powerlessness in yourself. To cry out to the heavens, “I can’t do this!” To admit utter defeat  in the loss of the life  you had imagined. To crumble to the ground, lonely and hopeless and profoundly ruined. To want to die, even. And there, in the darkest places, in the blackness of the underworld, you may begin to rediscover... life.  And learn to love the beginnings. A sacred reboot: A single breath.  The way the sun warms your face. The sound of a tiny bird singing in the tree over there. The raw simplicity of a single moment of human existence. Hell has been transmuted, thr...

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...

He is no longer here

Another day has begun.  I have lit my candles and incense.  Sat in silence. Worked up a sweat at the gym.  Eaten breakfast.  Straightened house.  Answered mail and dropped my man off at the airport. It is eight in the morning and the world stirs with wakefulness.  The sun climbs in the sky.  The birds sing.  The squirrels chip and chur in tree branches.  A dog barks.  And I look with dull eyes at the long day ahead, contemplating a single phrase, "My father is dead." What strange words. My father is dead. The man has been leaving for as long as I can remember and yet his death robs the wind from my lungs.  My chest throbs and throat tightens.  He isn't coming back. My mom and dad had slipped out of one another's lives before I'd barely begun mine.  Two weekends a month my brothers and I stood on a saggy porch, bags packed, eager for our hero to arrive in his old blue Ford to pick us up.  We vibrated with hope...