Morning, quiet, dark, solitary has been my favorite time of day since I had kids.
Sometimes it would be just me and my baby, nursing, quietly in a chair, my eyes focused on this miracle at my breast, so tiny and vulnerable and my heart would clinch tight and an immeasurable sadness would grip my heart. Why, I’d think to myself, did I feel so sad? Why didn’t I feel joy?
And I can only say because the moment was so damn full of love that, being who I am and how I entered this world, the same emotion touched a deep and unhealed void; some immeasurable loss and longing inescapably linked to great love.
As my children grew and my business took more of my time, I got up earlier and earlier.
Sometimes it was because I needed to go to work early, other times it was because it was the only calm time in the day. Mostly it was because it was quiet and solitary and I could hear myself think. Sometimes it was just because my anxiety would not let me sleep.
Raising children is not an easy feat, and I must admit I failed them time and time again. I was too young and too scared and simply too reactionary to be a great Mom, despite my love and intention for their wholeness. I was not whole myself.
I guess I can be grateful that two out of three of them have forgiven me and despite their childhood wounds, want to share my life and know me as I am today.
One does not, and because he was the first and it was so completely crazy, and he felt (and was) unprotected from his Father and my chaos, he has every right to be angry.
What breaks my heart is that he is so angry that he cannot feel his fear and move through it. Some pain is just too early, and too deep. The irony is that we share the same pain and are separated by it.
As I write this cold winter morning, before the sun is up and there is only dark silence, I am grateful for this time- the peace and the solitude.
It is now that I practice compassion for myself and for this day and for the people and situations that I will encounter. It is here that I give thanks for all that is good in my life and all that I am learning and have to learn. It is here that I remember that every breath is a gift and time is fleeting and today is the only day I have.
It’s humbling, this immense joy and I need to let myself open to receive it.
Breath in, Breath out, Breath out. Let go.
That’s because I got lucky; the Universe paired me with Ehret Oscar Ramey to be my counselor, teacher, mentor, protector, and friend. Ehret Ramey was my adopted Father.
I liked to run away when I was a kid to assert my Autonomy and Independence. One time I “ran away” to a Young Life Skating Party. When my Dad picked me up and discovered his 12-year-old was drunk, he took me to the hospital where he worked, cleaned me up in the Doctors lounge, and bought me a toothbrush. He said I’d better brush my teeth, stay away from alcohol and not to inform my Mother of my escapades. There were a few things we agreed not to tell Mom.
My Dad was handsome. My Dad was accomplished. My Dad was a man of service and his word. My Dad was a teacher, a physician, a friend, and caretaker to all. He loved to sing and dance and tell horrible jokes,
As I said, my Dad was a gentle soul and as a parent always treated us kids with respect even when we were clearly over the line. I can only remember two instances when my Dad lost it and both times it was because my older brother or I said something disrespectful to our Mother.