Nola, six months new
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
— Mary Oliver, "When Death Comes"
I spent the last week in Cleveland, Ohio, visiting with family. I love going back home for a visit. To be with my sister, who makes me laugh more anyone else. To be with my dad who just had knee replacement surgery. To be in the city where I grew up and make a new discovery. (This time, it was Tommy's Pastries. Oh-my-yum.) And especially to love up my little niece Nola, just six months new.
But for the last 10 years or so, it seemed I went to Cleveland because someone was dying. Or had died. Or we needed to clean out the house of someone who had died.
In some ways, for me, Cleveland came to mean crisis. A place of last visits, of many trips to the hospital, of doing what needed done, of saying final I love yous and good-byes. A place for things hard, tender, heart-breaking.
Last February, I noticed as we drove into the city, my stomach was a bitter mix of dread and anxiety.
As I often do when I'm in a knot about something, I began to mentally talk myself through it.
First I started with the facts: "No one is dying. This is a just a fun social visit to catch up with your family. Michael and Grace are here with you. Look at all the fun things you have planned this week. And you are still connected to the people you love that have passed on. In some ways you are closer to them than ever. "
But I still didn't feel better so I began to talk to myself as I would a child: "It's okay that you feel sad that so many people you dearly loved are gone. It's okay to grieve the loss of tradition and the beloved homes you celebrated in. It's okay to feel all this, even many years after their passing, even if you think you shouldn't feel sad anymore. It's okay that being here brings all this up. I love you and I'm here with you."
By witnessing raw emotion that was there, my tangle of emotions could loosen and the tears were finally free to roll down my face. When I was done crying, I felt a wave of calm and gratitude that carried me throughout our visit.
Still, as we headed home, I said to Michael, "I'm glad we got our Cleveland visit done for this year."
*****
I spoke too soon.
Two days later, my sister called to say that she and her beloved partner of four years were having a baby — which was both a shock and an utter delight after she had been told she would likely never have kids.
I surprised myself by how I excited I was that our family, after a decade of getting smaller, would be growing again.
As it turned out, there were many visits to Cleveland last year — for their wedding, for their baby shower, to help them move into the charming home they bought, and to help after Nola was born.
When I drove home last September, after a week of sister bonding, house nesting and baby showering, I was overcome with such a wave of gratitude.
The tears came once again.
This time, though, they were sweet tears of gratitude, joy and hope.
For the beautiful unfolding of this next chapter for our family — new brother-in-law, new baby, new house to make memories in, new traditions and new opportunties to connect, new branches in our blossoming family tree.
I saw the beginning of this chapter, and all I could feel was the blessing in all of it. Even in the pain, the grief, and the loss...as well as the joy, the delight and the Big Love that continues to come again and again to open my heart a little wider than before.
In that moment, I could feel there was some kind of divine unfolding at work — something larger than me, that was just on the outside of my awareness —, and I could sense how the losses might even have made way for all these new blessings. And how there was grace, God, miracles, support and more love than we could ever fathom carrying us through it all.
*****
This week, being in Cleveland, I was amazed with the abundance of growth all around me.
How Nola can now sit up, roll over, coo and laugh, smile and play with her toys. How my dad's knee was healing and how he could walk again without a cane. How my sister has grown into mothering so beautifully. How my brother is growing, too, by moving back home to support his dad, my stepfather, as he navigates chemotherapy and cancer. How the magnolias were opening proudly, how tulips and daffodils stood tall and open-faced to the sun, and how the grass was green and lush.
I couldn't imagine this was possible just 14 months ago.
But here it is. Right now.
This niece. This family. These moments. This precious, tender life. This perfectly imperfect me. All this goodness.
My prayer today is to be awake enough to notice it all. For my heart to stay open to this wonder-filled unfolding journey called life.
Tell me, what is filling your heart with wonder these days? what captures your amazement?
Friday, May 9, 2014 at 8:58PM 
