October 7, 2021 [from 10.25.08]
A new generation is beginning, and I watch in quiet awe, remembering. I want to be present for this transition, not just rush past the process to the gleeful purchase of baby clothes. I didn’t know when I decided to write a journal that this would be the year my daughter became a mother. But in a few months our family will gain a new member, and we will all add new titles– mother, father, uncle, grandmother, great-grandmother– and have a new way to belong to each other. The generations move over a notch. This time I’m only an observer, and so I bear witness, with joy.
week 676 [from week 2] I swallow my heart like a goldfish
I swallow my heart like a goldfish and
hope it remembers how to swim back to
its old spot in my chest what did I do
to end up holding disappointment’s hand
again I say it doesn’t matter it
really does though I close my eyes but my
mind pops open and as hard as I try
I can’t collide with sleep so we just sit
my dreams and I on the edge of the bed
and wait it out like drunkards or cowboys
or someone with plans until light destroys
our refuge and day drags us out instead
of hope grant me a lifetime warranty
so I can schedule my recovery
October 6, 2021 [from 10.26.08]
Today my children are waking up in their old rooms. It doesn’t happen often, as their lives now center in different far-off places. But I remember fondly, as my daughter moves toward motherhood, when this house was home for us all. Past nurture, past all need, there remains a bond here that I cherish, respect, and try always to deserve.