Tag: Love

When He Travels

On By JesseIn Life, Love, My Man, Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

When he travels
it’s not so different than other days.
I carry on here
with the kids, the house, and the animals
getting everyone fed
sis on the bus
move the laundry through
clean this or that.
Then pick sis up
get everyone fed again
before afternoon playtime
rolls into evening
and dinner
brushing teeth
wrestling everyone into their pjs
and herding them up the stairs
for bedtime stories
and snuggles to sleep
flipping lights, pulling shades, and checking locks as I go.

But then,
when all is quiet,
I tiptoe back downstairs,
steal one of his soft, old t-shirts,
get under the covers,
and, after awhile,
fall asleep in his spot.

Further Away

On By JesseIn Life, Motherhood, Nature, Parenting, Prose, Thoughts, WritingLeave a comment

I’ve been watching from further away these days, although it’s hard. My children are young, but capable, I remind myself, sitting on the guardrail of the bridge and watching, as they jump and slip another step and another down the edge of the creek. I’ve thought it through–the water is very cold, but shallow, and we are close to home. If one (or more) should trip in, all will be well. There may be a scraped knee or palm, there will definitely be muddy clothes and wet boots, but the risk of any serious injuries here is fairly low.

I can hear them discussing how to get to the next big rock . . . whether or not to try balancing across the fallen log whose bark is long gone . . . and I want to tell them to be careful, the log will be slippery . . . and I want to tell them not to step into the water, because it’s cold and they’ll be cold . . . I want to tell them to slow down so they don’t fall and to watch for the moss on the rocks . . .

But I’m too far away (thank God) to say any of that. Staring down into the water as it eddies and flows, I think about frogs and crawdads and the way a hot bath made my cold, red skin prickle when I came in from getting wet in cold weather as a child. There is much to be learned here and it’s all best learned from the creek itself.

The only lesson I want to teach in this moment is that I am over here because they no longer need me over there; that I trust them to make sound decisions and that should things go sideways, I believe in their abilities to get themselves and/or help each other out of any trouble they encounter.

It’s a critical lesson for them, and an often painful one for me. I want to be over there. I want to hold my hands out like I used to when I was showing them how to jump from and land on wet, mossy rocks without slipping. But that was yesterday’s lesson. And I’m not so far away I can’t see they learned it well.

As predicted, they attempt the log and one slips, grabbing the other, who promptly drops a foot into the creek to catch himself. The crying and shouting begins, but still, I keep my place; they know where I am, though none of them have looked my way in awhile. Within minutes, they’ve checked for injuries, apologies are exchanged, and they’ve decided they want to go home, but not just yet.

A few more sticks are thrown, a few more hops from this rock to that, and they’re headed back my way–all a little wet, all a little muddy, and all a little cold (though one much more so than the others). With proud smiles and sure steps they march closer, talking over each other to tell me what they did and what they saw.

As we walk home, I tell them how proud and impressed I am, commend their attempt at the log, and commiserate on the falling in . . . all as if I hadn’t soaked in every moment from my new spot–further away.

Thinking on my Thirties

On By JesseIn Grief, Life, Love, Motherhood, Prose, The Journey, Thoughts, WritingLeave a comment

This year will mark the end of my thirties and, though I’ve got some months to go, I’ve been thinking over the past, near-decade and gathering up my lessons. When I was heading out of my twenties, I decided that my one word for them would be “big.” I felt big love, made big mistakes, and took big steps toward the life I wanted. My thirties though, my thirties have been . . . humbling.

I’ve been handed my greatest treasures and felt myself nearly crushed by the weight of that responsibility. I’ve failed more often than succeeded at the things I’ve tried. I’ve felt fear and anxiety in ways I never knew I could. And I’ve felt insecurities I thought I’d long ago put to rest. I lost my dogs and my horse and even though they were old and on some level I knew their days would come, I was in no way prepared when it actually happened. I threw every unhappy feeling into a heap in the back corner of my heart because I was too busy with motherhood to sort it out properly. And I learned that however much you set aside, is the exact amount you will have to sort out properly in order to let go and move on.

That said, I also learned how silent, snowy woods can wrap themselves around you in a way that feels understanding without pitying. I learned that what feels impossible can just as suddenly feel possible with sleep, good food, and good friends. I discovered there is a depth to my strength that remains unknown, and that despite the agony of losing what and whom I have loved, I have never once regretted loving, nor have I ever run out of love to give. I know now that I can keep moving even when I feel swallowed whole by my fears. And I have seen that whatever else there is, there is also always something to look forward to, but you do have to lift your eyes to see it.

So I’ll be heading into my forties with my eyes up: knowing the weight of the world but also knowing how to set it down.

Motherhood Is Not and Motherhood Is

On By JesseIn Life, Love, Motherhood, Poetry, The Lipstick Letters, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writing1 Comment

Motherhood is not the laundry, the cleaning, or the packing of the diaper bag with all the things.
Motherhood is not the dishes, the meals, the grocery lists, the planning ahead for all the things you’ll probably need for whatever it is you’re about to do.
Motherhood is not knowing where everything is, what everyone does and doesn’t like to eat, or what needs to be done to get ready for every activity.
Motherhood is not a veneer of expected selflessness that leads to too few showers, too many messy buns, not enough sleep, not enough time alone, snacking at the counter instead of sitting down for meals, too much coffee to wake up, too much wine to get through the day, and too much melatonin to fall asleep.

Motherhood is the way my soul held theirs until they could hold them on their own.
Motherhood is the way I hold myself firm when they need a rock and pool like a thick, fleece blanket when they need a soft and comforting place to land.
Motherhood is the way I will always always always worry.
Motherhood is the way I love them–regardless and because of everything, so deeply and truly they’ll know real love when they find it again in the people they choose on their own.
Motherhood is the way I am both launch and landing pad from their first steps to my last.
Motherhood is the sacred role I fill with anxious pride–doing my best to explain things here and help my children navigate this confusing, often frightening, beautiful, wild world.

Motherhood is so much more than the overwhelming, never-ending void of tasks that so many women fall into, taking their potential with them. A void made incredibly difficult to escape by the weight of shame, guilt, and so many expectations pulling us back in when we try to drag ourselves out on our own.

We cannot drag ourselves out on our own.

My Mother

On By JesseIn Life, Love, Motherhood, Nature, Poetry, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writing2 Comments

My mother brings the ocean
wherever she goes–
depths and power
unfathomable.

My mother is the fourth Fate,
quietly knitting destinies
rather than weaving
as she prefers to work alone.

My mother is the rock
and the breeze–
the light filtering through the leaves
and the tree that holds them
until it’s time to let go.

And it’s my mother’s love I jump off from
into the unknown
again and again,
my mother’s love I return to,
whether or not I’ve succeeded,
my mother’s love
that will always be there.

Until

On By JesseIn Life, Love, Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

My body has forgotten you—
bricked up every door,
boarded every window
An effort to protect my heart–
who so quickly and thoroughly forgets
in the face of certain fears.
You cannot break in.
No one can.
I’m so good at this
numbness
practiced across painful, frightening years
But you can toss pebbles at the window
You can knock softly
I’m soft
that’s why it’s all so hard.
But I’m still here
Hiding maybe, but never leaving
I want to be found
By you
I want to be touched
By you
Just softly
Until I remember
Until my body remembers
You haven’t, you don’t, you won’t
I want you always
but softly
until . . .

Pride (June Thoughts I had no Time to Write in June)

On By JesseIn Life, Politics, Prose, Thoughts1 Comment

“Coming out” is a strange thing to make people do. Could you imagine being a young teen/preteen, having just started to come into your sexuality and realizing that at some point in your life, you will have to plan a moment to announce that sexuality to your closest friends and family?

If you want to confuse a child, try explaining to them how and why some colors and toys are only for girls and some are only for boys. But even though pink is for girls, daddy does have a pink shirt he wears to work, but that’s okay because it’s a certain shade of pink and it’s a boy-style shirt he can wear with his other boy-style clothes. And girls can wear any color and play with trucks but only because it’s cool for girls to want to be like boys, but only when they’re little, If they keep doing it when they get older it’s bad. And it’s never cool for boys to like girl things even though girls have some of the best things like glitter and unicorns. Why can’t boys love shiny, colorful bits of plastic and magic horses that sometimes fly? Because the reasons. But don’t despair, they CAN love regular horses. But only like Clint Eastwood or John Wayne.

Dressing up like the opposite sex and entertaining people with music, comedy, dance, etc is not “grooming.” Grooming is a very specific term regarding the long-term efforts of sick adults to trick children into believing that their participation in sex acts is good. Grooming is 100% evil and completely, in all ways, separate from drag and separate from all things LGBTQ+.

And if it’s about God for you, study hard before you pass judgement. Not just the (very) few scriptures that have been interpreted by some as anti-LGBTQ, but the history of that time period and all the other scriptures around those few. Study the new testament, especially Jesus who came to help us understand. Do just as he would have done and you can’t go wrong.

And if you say you don’t care who people sleep with but you don’t want it “in your face” all the time and you don’t understand why “they” have to have parades, etc, please know that, at least in part, those parades are for you. The people organizing and marching in those parades want it “in your face” until you become comfortable with it, until it stops being such a big deal, until it’s just another Saturday, another celebration, until people stop murdering people over it, stop denying housing, adoptions, and marriages over it, until good humans are no longer ostracized over it, and all the things that make a good life are freely available to everyone. Because everyone wants to be able to just be themselves and still be able to have all those big and little, beautiful things that make a good life.

The parades are also for the lonely ones, the depressed ones, the scared ones who need to see that they aren’t alone–there are many like them who stand ready to fold them into a fun, proud, and loving community when the one they were born into, maybe even their closest family and friends, have rejected them.

Writing all of this takes me back to when I was eighteen–a small town girl who knew nothing about anything. I went to college and an impromptu, two-person dance party in one of my classes led to me being brought into one of the most eclectic, fabulous, loving, messy, hilarious, heartbreaking, and beautiful groups of friends. Friends who welcomed me, looked out for me, loved me, and never asked or pressured me to be anything but myself. And through all the craziness that is anyone’s late teens/early twenties, with and through these lovely people, I came to truly understand what my parents had been showing me all my life–all people are fragile and it’s just about impossible to hate someone you’ve gotten to know.

So take every opportunity to get to know people who aren’t like you. Step outside what you think you know. Trade your fear, your anger, your discomfort for curiosity, and let people show you who they are. Don’t worry so much about little things like who’s wearing what and focus on the people themselves–their message, their integrity, the measure of their heart and their soul. These are the things that should matter the most. These are the only things that should matter at all.

Darling, do you Remember?

On By JesseIn Cancer, I Love my Husband Because . . ., Life, Love, Poetry, The Cancer FilesLeave a comment

I was in the hospital
after surgery to remove my cancer.

How bad was it?
How far had it spread?

I was scared and it was quiet and dark
I was exhausted but I couldn’t sleep.

Am I dying? I wondered.
If I am . . .

The source of my eternal access to joy
is a gift from my father–
the ability to set aside one aspect of reality
to focus wholly on another.

There’s always something lovely,
something beautiful
something joyful
along with whatever is painful or frightening.

But that night I couldn’t do it.
My thoughts were off like a freight train
I wasn’t strong enough to stop.

Will they tell me I’m dying?
What then?

And you were sitting in a chair by my bed
and you said I should get some sleep
and when I looked at you
I didn’t have to say I couldn’t.

You just climbed in beside me,
careful of the I.V., the pulse oximeter
careful of the raw wound on my neck
where they’d glued me back together
like a broken doll.

You climbed in beside me and
with such care for my neck,
such care for my heart
you settled my head on your shoulder
like we were home.

And suddenly I was.
My only home at night is your shoulder
where I rest my head,
your leg where I fling my leg over.

and the freight train derailed
somewhere between life and death

There was only the two of us
in that space only the two of us
will ever occupy.

and I was safe
and I couldn’t hear the sand
pouring down through the hourglass anymore.
and I slept.

I Love it Here

On By JesseIn Grief, Life, Prose, Thoughts, Writing2 Comments

Life will knock you on your ass sometimes. Out of the blue, on a sunny day, suddenly there you are—leveled by whatever it is. Getting back up is a struggle. It takes time and it hurts and it’s scary and even from your knees with bleary eyes it’s easy to see that the life you’re coming back to isn’t the same one you went down in.

Macular degeneration was one of those for me–completely unexpectable—TKO. Going (hopefully very) slowly blind was nowhere near my list of things to watch out for. I went down hard and stayed down awhile–angry, sad, depressed, desperate. Now, I’m working my way through those things (for neither the first time, nor the last) and back to my feet in a new life.

A life that brings with it a whole new way of eating, some serious sunglasses, a wealth of anxiety about vision loss, a lifetime of follow-up appointments, and the knowledge that my future includes someday losing my central vision and, with it, a good deal of my independence.

But it’s worth it.

I love it here.

There’s horses and whiskey and margaritas. I love laughing and lipstick and guiding my babies as they grow. I love the woods and the mountains, misty mornings, and wild thunderstorms. Music, poetry, snow-melt river water running through my hair, and warm sun on my skin.

My man, my friends, and my family are funny as all Hell and have kept me company, laughing or crying, through every nightmare I’ve ever had to face.

And I’m fascinated by the strange muddle of humanity I’m part of—clashing and connecting, messily growing into what we’ll all be and do.

Life’s wellspring of treasures is as infinite as our capacity to endure it’s horrors. And when I’m having trouble finding my feet in the darkest dark I keep at it, not because I have to or need to or should or can but, because I want to;

I love it here.

Waking up With You

On By JesseIn Life, Love, Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

The morning sun blazes
a burning trail
through tranquil, lowered lids
shattering the night
and my soft sleep.

You see it, too, and
only half awake,
reach through the blankets
the darkness
the hours we walked
through separate dreams . . .

until you find me.

Hands gripping hips
you pull me close
tuck me in
over your shoulder
under your chin
a place I fit so perfectly
the night is whole again.

And, just like every morning,
even (especially?) after all these years
I’ll count leaving your arms
among the hardest things I do today.