December
On Now: End-of-year book stacks, learning to trust, and the mother-writer
December was grief and disappointment and finding joy anyway. It was breathing treatments in the middle of the night and his tired little face in the dark. It was his voice saying, mama, mama, mama in my dreams and waking hours. It was reading books in the blocks of sun in his room and watching live Elvis videos until my eyes burned and blurred because it was the only thing that would quiet his sickness. It was being reminded of those early days of motherhood when my body was his and I no longer belonged to myself. It was listening to my partner sing lullabies in the still-dark dawn so I could sleep. It was showing up for each other and ourselves in a way that was whole—a reminder that we are good, that we’ve built something beautiful. It was planning a trip to the beach and not being able to take the trip even though the schedule was cleared and the car was packed. It was book clubs and leaning into slowing down and making time to hear what I had to say. It was wet footprints in the bed after his bath and tiny hands in my hair. It was standing up for myself and confronting someone with grace rather than anger and healing a relationship that would have otherwise disintegrated. It was Christmas ornaments filled with flowers I’d saved from my son throughout the year. It was fully stepping into my truth as mother-writer and not letting one eclipse the other. It was Rudolph pajamas and Christmas mountain towns and hot chocolate. It was backyard pizza ovens and sourdough crust and sugo all’arrabbiata. It was the wind in the hemlocks and our breath in the air and cold hands in each other’s coats. It was Wonka and remembering to dream and holding hands on the way to the bookstore. It was blueberry mouths and champagne in the mail and city-wide power outages. It was my Dad dressing up as Santa and bringing my son a sack full of records. It was my son saying, papa, papa, papa, and being able to see the magic in my father just as I always have. It was our wedding song and end-of-year book stacks and finding my way back to myself. It was having the knowing of ringing in the New Year with my brother in our little house in these mountains that are always blue and feeling like everything is as it should be.
