Birthdays and Saturn Returns
Woodsmoke is curling through the liquidamber trees and the birch trees, wafting over the fir trees with their Christmas scent. The maples are yellow across the way, and the sky dark already. There's a certain melancholy to this time of year for me. Maybe just the bracing for the descent into the darkness of winter, and the long rains, and the cold.
It's the birthday of my oldest son, whose father died now nearly two years ago. He came by, my tall first born, and I gave him presents all wrapped in shiny blue and silver, with curling red and golden ribbons. I always give him pretty things, useless things. Things he probably inwardly sighs over, as I used to sigh over my mother's tenderly chosen and totally wrong gifts. But we chatted, his house mate called, the day wore into darkness.
I was in labor five days with that child--well, perhaps two days hard, hard labor. It was a slow adjustment of my soul to motherhood. The planned homebirth ended in the tiny local hospital, where the doc on call refused to deal with me and I lied valiantly about just how long I'd been laboring. He was born without problems, at 8:33 in the evening. I'd refused all the drugs offered by the kind elderly doctor who'd come in to help out. I still recall vividly meeting my son's blue eyes, and thinking "oh dear; he knows more than I do".
It's been a long journey, but mostly a good one. With our very different spirits we taught one another a lot.
He was born in my first Saturn return, for those who follow such things, and is coming towards his own passage as I come to my second Saturn return (exact next summer). I find myself kind of bracing for the next phase in my own life. That first return did bring me my much loved child, and the earthquake of my life. It brought me a couple ended love affairs, the death of a dear friend, new directions. It brought me to this remote area, where I decided to stay. Tears and separations and new beginnings. I did not think I'd survive it.
What we survive ourselves we long to spare our children. I wonder about this young man's passage, and know he will weather it with grace and strength.
It's the birthday of my oldest son, whose father died now nearly two years ago. He came by, my tall first born, and I gave him presents all wrapped in shiny blue and silver, with curling red and golden ribbons. I always give him pretty things, useless things. Things he probably inwardly sighs over, as I used to sigh over my mother's tenderly chosen and totally wrong gifts. But we chatted, his house mate called, the day wore into darkness.
I was in labor five days with that child--well, perhaps two days hard, hard labor. It was a slow adjustment of my soul to motherhood. The planned homebirth ended in the tiny local hospital, where the doc on call refused to deal with me and I lied valiantly about just how long I'd been laboring. He was born without problems, at 8:33 in the evening. I'd refused all the drugs offered by the kind elderly doctor who'd come in to help out. I still recall vividly meeting my son's blue eyes, and thinking "oh dear; he knows more than I do".
It's been a long journey, but mostly a good one. With our very different spirits we taught one another a lot.
He was born in my first Saturn return, for those who follow such things, and is coming towards his own passage as I come to my second Saturn return (exact next summer). I find myself kind of bracing for the next phase in my own life. That first return did bring me my much loved child, and the earthquake of my life. It brought me a couple ended love affairs, the death of a dear friend, new directions. It brought me to this remote area, where I decided to stay. Tears and separations and new beginnings. I did not think I'd survive it.
What we survive ourselves we long to spare our children. I wonder about this young man's passage, and know he will weather it with grace and strength.
posted by jarvenpa at 7:07 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home