Excerpt from September 1, 1939
Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
- W.H. Auden
I have not posted for some time, and may not post again for a little while, as things have been rough again lately. But continuing the theme of my last essay, I have been ruminating on the kinds of beautiful support and help that have come my way through the latest storm.*
Like Heather, the soul and essence of kindness, who knows the fundamental truth I think we all struggle with sometimes: that asking “How can I help?” can land like an obligation on the recipient, but Help Itself is always a blessing. And so, knowing that my yard had descended into leafy chaos in the middle of it all, she showed up one day with her mulching mower and just did the thing I needed but did not have the bandwidth to manage. And beyond and around that, she has walked miles with me, and listened, and empathized. Which is also a blessing.
Like Steve, whose regular “How’s Jane?” texts, and his ability to make me laugh when all I want to do is cry, and his gentle rejection of my truth-covering platitudes, remind me all the time that he cares about me for me. Which is an amazement.
Like Dréa, my sis, who always listens without judgment, and who, on the worst day, grabbed her coat and headed over, to take me walking, and to help me breathe. Which is a balm.
Like Susannah, who is always ready to light a fire in her fire pit and open a bottle of wine and talk into the night about anything and everything (and plot revenge). Which is an anchor.
Like the friends old and new who have reached across distances to offer a meal, a drink (or several), a conversation, or any other kind of presence I might need. Which is a gift.
Like the beautiful strangers-who-are-not-strangers in the online, irreverent, parenting group I am part of, who are always ready to offer solace or outrage or advice or help whenever I share my story. Which is a tonic.
And like Ben, whose love is as broad and deep as the sky itself, and who understands me absolutely, and who calms and nurtures my hurting child. Which is everything.
Be well, friends, and may the lights shine brightly for you as well in this winter darkness.
*I won’t say too much about Vee here because she values her privacy and I want to respect it. But I will tell you that if I had a dollar for every time in the past year that this amazing kid, who hates physical affection, sweetly put her head on my shoulder, or offered a hug when I needed some cheering up, I would have a LOT of dollars. Which is a marvel.