Heartache

Who knows heartache better than a Mother, as she sends you off to school. She knows its the beginning of you leaving her, trying to find your way into the world on your own.

Who knows heartache better than a Mother, as she holds her sick child. As her child cries tears, she kisses away their fears.

Who knows heartache better than a Mother, as she watches you lose someone you love. Pulling you close in an embrace, there need not be any words -you both cry together.

Oh this wise woman, knows the meaning of heartache, what it means to lose, but oh- what it means to love. Her heart ached many nights, for you.

Who knows heartache better than a Mother. She still waits up for you, worrying about you, even though you are grown and have children of your own now.

Who knows heartache better than a Mother, and who knows her love better than another. For it is her daughter, that always has a friend in her Mother. She now knows the same heartache, as her heart breaks for her own child- her only Son.

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Impossible Child

My Son has been my greatest teacher. From the first flutters I felt, as he moved and then kicks -as he grew larger- kicking the my ribs. My Son, has taught me what it means to truly live.

These days, I am short on sleep. But those sleepless nights are well spent. I spend them with my son.

He was an Impossible child from the beginning. It was nothing short a miracle that he was born. Having PCOS, I would have some difficulty getting pregnant. My Husband and I got lucky with our Son.

I had a special connection with him from the beginning, I was 100 percent certain that I was going to have a boy. I had dreams about him before he was born. I was actually so certain, my Husband and I didn’t even pick out a girls name. We bought boys clothes and a teddy bear for him. The ultrasound confirmed my belief.

He was two weeks late, and I had to be induced. Yes, my Impossible Child.

When he was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck and he was blue, and when the nurses recesutated him, that cry was the most beautiful cry I had ever heard. Yes I was proud to call him my child.

I had no idea, that I was about to embark on the most wonderful adventure, becoming a Mother. I also didn’t know, that such a little person could be so smart, and know so many things about life.

To see the world through the eyes of a child. That has been the most wonderful thing my Son has taught me.

You see, children live in the moment. Day to Day. They have no fear. This works to their advantage. They explore create, and are exactly who they are meant to be. They live for, and in the moment. This is life’s greatest gift.

Noah has always loved Music and Dance and Art. He reminds me so much of myself its like looking into a mirror. Except life happened, and I forgot who I was. Through him I see the way I used to see the world. Through the eyes of a child.

Bright, vibrant, ready to be explored. Everything is beautiful. Everything is new and it is an experience.

So happy 5th birthday, my impossible child. Keep dancing like no ones watching, keep dreaming, keep on living. You are smart beyond your years. You of all people know that tomorrow is not promised to any of us. You remind me what it is to live, to be courageous and live in the moment without fear. Impossible child, life’s greatest teacher.

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The Paradigm of the Typewriter

The typewriter on the shelf was a closeout deal. The office supply store was getting rid of old stock –and this old behemoth, no one wanted. It called out to the middle-aged, women. Choices must be made. An typewriter for 99 dollars and some change, (ink ribbons included) or that brand new laser jet ink package for a whopping 209 dollars –plus tax –something, a working mother and struggling writer, could little afford.

She was reminded where her love of writing began. When she was no more that five years of age, she began writing her stories. Her first written books were about the Valley River people. People that came from all walks of life. One woman that came from Japan and wore beautiful Kimonos, so everyone thought that she was a princess from a far off land. They couldn’t be more wrong.

Then there was a man, that lived in a nursing home because he had Parkinson’s disease. He had a wheelchair that allowed him more mobility because he was unable to walk steadily.

Of course there was the Valley River girl, from a far off land that wrote stories, had big dreams, and loved to illustrate all the books she wrote. That girl was me.

She held on, to all her notebooks and the first play she ever wrote. It was about a girl that would rather write than do her chores. She got mad and left home because she didn’t have enough time (or paper to write.)

She looked back at the old typewriter next to her desk and woke up in her bedroom, knowing that the typewriter that had been a closeout deal at the store was really all a dream.

Next to her desk, sat the typewriter she wrote all her first stories on. This was her Grandmother’s typewriter. The one that inspired, on which she cried over, because a lost dream had been realized each morning she woke up and saw it sitting next to her desk.

All that time she knew who she was. She had always been a writer.

‘Thirty years of age– that’s not a bad place to start,’ she thought.

–And so she promised herself after many failures, this year she would try and would succeed. That dream and her family –the sense of the community that the Valley River people had– was perhaps the only thing that truly mattered to her now, as much as it had when she was a little girl.

The paradigm of the typewriter had finally been realized.