“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


this one doesn't count

because I have to say some words before I can go on with this month. There are no rules, I know, but there are some unspoken ones, so to speak; at least I hear them in my head, and here I am breaking them before even beginning. I am such a rebel. But it is no coincidence I think that my first image today is one of my bronzed baby shoes, once-upon-a-time bookends, that this fallen book, Pictures Under Discussion, that has been fallen for a month or two at least, Georgia O'Keeffe's hand holding her beloved stolen black rock, drew me.

This morning I stood shaking in the shower and it is three days beyond the incident, beyond the scare. I have emailed a friend, I have typed the words and erased them, I have cried on two shoulders, texted while it was happening, but it stays with me. I have to say these words out loud and I am sorry.

My mother is all right, she is fine, unless you speak to my oldest brother who is full of worries, real and imagined, and not shy about speaking his words aloud. She is fine until my phone rings and I see her name on the caller id, and she is fine until I imagine more weakness in her voice than is there. She is fine, she is fine, but my belly begs to differ and I begin to shake and I want off the phone. I want to run away, I want to be alone, you understand, and I escape here to work, to Lily cat and my continuing read of Anne of Green Gables, now book 3, Anne of The Island, no longer Green Gables; she has moved on.

So must I.
It is no longer Thursday afternoon;
the sun rose this morning and it was August.

I don't want to give details - they're unnecessary, really - it was just that something happened, one of those things, something that meant nothing, not really, it was a mistake, one of those things. A machine malfunction at the hospital, a quiet little beep, that said I was losing my mother. It was wrong, but it took a minute or two for 3 nurses to ascertain that, a very long minute or two, and it would've meant we were losing her, not just me, but I was the only one there, me and those nurses, and it felt quite personal. And that's it, except that they then became concerned that she wasn't rousing from under anesthesia, and I had to leave, to be honest, I had to find the bathroom and cry while they worked on her and with her and when I returned they were all smiles because she was fluttering her eyes at us all.

It was less than an hour on Thursday afternoon.

And that's it. It scared me. It was not fun. She is home and I am still shaky when she calls, when my brother stands at my front door and tells me he thinks she is still sick. And so I run away. To here, to a safe place, cluttered and messy and quiet, my office stacked with papers and pictures, a cat asleep on the chair next to my desk. I turn my calendar from July to August and there is a picture of trees in summer fog.


  1. I hope reading your beloved Anne of Green Gables quiets your anxiety.
    Hope you feel better soon.

  2. Elizabeth - You are quick! :) I am better already. Releasing the words was so needed.

    Thank you.

  3. i turn my calendar to august and it is a picture of 2 mourning doves. how appropriate, i think.

    we know, you and me , that words must flow to keep us present.

    that is the present of words. :)

    xo, graciel

  4. let out what needs to come out....we're here to listen and soothe and just be....because we're like that and our shoulders always have room for a scared and weary head....

    some extra thoughts....some realy strong and healing ones....just came sailing your way. i promise they'll get there.

  5. You never, never need to apologize for saying something like this--or anything else for that matter. My heart is with you today... I wish I could think of anything more encouraging to say, but know that you are in my thoughts and prayers.

  6. Graciel - Pretty perfect. Yes, the words had to come, had to be let go. Almost as if tiny flecks of anxiety were attached to each letter I typed, leaving me through my fingertips.

    Beth - I got them. :) Thank you. And thank you for your words, for a listening ear or two.

    Amy - I am fine. It was just scary and I am bad at letting go of scary. Just takes keeping on keeping on. I have always wanted to be able to walk away from things and truly walk away, but . . . we are who we are. Only so much can be changed, no matter what anyone says. Thank you.

    xoxo all of you!

  7. dont forget to breath .. you are a good daughter .. this is not the easy part..

  8. Blessings, blessings.
    The greatest thing (I think) we can do as humans is to be where we are, as we are. It is an act of the greatest grace to be able to express our fear/anger/anxiety/et al.
    In expressing it, it can begin to find its little steam vents out of our insides. We can decompress. Say your truth as it arises. We are here to be present & love you.

  9. Elaine - No, it's not. And thank you.

    Skye - And thank you. Muchas gracias, which I originally typed as muchas garcias. :) Decompress. Yes. I cannot say I held anxiety or fear in - those around me certainly knew; there is just something about writing it out, typing it out, releasing the words.

    xoxo again. to both of you.

  10. I tend to mostly stalk your wonderful blog but I had to let you know that I'm thinking of you and you family - all the best to you all.

  11. Rochelle - Thank you for the kind words & thoughts. :) Much appreciated!

  12. Somehow I missed this post when I came by earlier...
    I think in this case, especially, rules are meant to be broken, this august break is there to give us a break when we want or need it and if there are words, well let there be words (at least that is my plan and I am a pretty hardcore rule follower).

    I have been thinking about you much, wondering how you were doing, and now I am sending you a warm hug and positive thoughts and peace.

  13. Take care and breathe deeply. Your mom is OK, but oh what a scare.

  14. Oh, that urge to run. Yes, I understand. I have been running away from my mother's cancer for almost 4 years. You're lucky you can find words to express yourself..I find I can't write about it at all. Not even to myself.

    Have I told you this before? Hm..it seems familiar to me all of a sudden.

  15. Sorry this took me so long to find. Sending you love. That must have been both terrifying and life changing. We can never tell how we will deal with these extreme moments - it sounds like you are doing it honestly, which is the best way.

    Sending big love and peace!


  16. I find this the same day as Megg.

    What a scare!!
    Oh, I am so glad everything was ok in the end. So glad. Glad that she could flutter those eyes at you and give you some much needed peace and comfort.

    Wishing you safety and comfort in this unsure world. xoxo


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