Tonight's entry will be a composite - a mixture not a compound. Different streams of thought inform my desire to write tonight.
First, April 1 is the anniversary of our terrible middle of the night house fire of fire of 1985. For those who don't know, the heater exploded when I was alone, sleeping in the house withmy two little girls while kerry worked the night shift at the post office. I woke to firs alarm, walls of flame, searing heat, terrifying roar, and the sickening truth that I could not get through the flames to Joanna, my second grader. I stood in the hall a moment, knowing I could not save her, that she could be dying that very instant, and that all I could do was save four year old Ruth and myself. I've never felt such horror, or such relief as I felt a few minutes later, outside the house when Joanna appeared, having gotten out her window on her own. That night I learned that stuff is only stuff, that trouble from which all family members walk away isn't real trouble, and that anything can blow up at any moment. The heater had been safety checked the previous week. Every April first I'm thankful we survived that night and also remind myself to take no sunrise for granted.
Second, we had another miniseder and I asked myself what way of being I would most like to free myself from this year. It's a hard one for me - the need to be in the center of relationships that matter to me, to make sure everyone is alright with everyone else, to keep peace and try to make everything right for everyone all the time. The truth is I can't do that, and just stress myself out trying. The other truth is the people in my inner circle are wise and healthy enough that they don't need me to mediate so much. I disrespect them when I try so hard. It will be a hard habit for me to change, but a truly liberating change to the extent that I can succeed.
Third, April marks a poem a day challenge and a web site my writing group uses posts a prompt each day. Today's was "lonely" and here is my poem - which surprised me. I don't know quite where in be it bubbled up from - feels very young. That's one thing I like about challenges. They get me writing poems I wouldn't write otherwise.
Yearning
I want you to want me
as much as I want you.
I need you to need me
as much as I need you.
Show me you love me
as much as I love you.
I promise to trust you
and stop asking for more.
Victoria Hendricks
April 1, 2010
3 comments:
Victoria, every time I hear you write/speak about the fire in 1985 I am moved by this story. So glad that the three of you survived; and I reflect this morning on your comment that learning that stuff is only stuff, that trouble from which everyone walks away isn't real trouble at all. True.
The way of being you would like to free yourself from this year is a worthy goal. I believe many have this same way of being, at least with our inner circle(s). I wonder if it is possible for someone to change this aspect. It might be 'core.'
Your poem is good, Victoria; and yes, it feels 'young' to me too.
Wow, what a reminder of that terrifying night. I love what you wrote: "That night I learned that stuff is only stuff, that trouble from which all family members walk away isn't real trouble, and that anything can blow up at any moment." and "Every April first I'm thankful we survived that night and also remind myself to take no sunrise for granted." What powerful lessons, both for you to have learned through experience and for those of us who learn through your sharing of it over the years.
Interesting observation Mary, that the way of being I am trying to change, the need to make everything right, keep everyone safe, be the glue, the center that holds, may be core. I'm not williung to accept that I can't change the extent to which I fall into these patterns. i do theni the tendency to fall into them will remain,
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