Sunday Morning

Oh, how I love Sunday morning! The town is quiet, none of the bustle of neighbors driving off to work, no children on their way to school. I took our doggie out for her walk, the long tired shadows of the approaching night reversed to the tall hopeful shadows of the morning as we walked along the sidewalk.

Usually our morning walks begin at the school yard, complete with a tennis ball and plastic baggie (yes, I do pick up after her, because in MY world, it would be MY kid coming home with the poop shoe). I limit our time here as to not run into too many school kids. Today, though, I let Roxi explore. As she sniffed the perimeter of the playground fence, I took my time walking on the frosty grass.

The sun was rising, warming the earth, and I watched as the grass awakened from its sleepy white to its lively green. I watched the trees boast their newly bloomed leaves in the gentle wind, crested by the birds crossing overhead. Pairs of ducks, noisy geese, and the high flying seagulls. I looked back and saw the path of my footprints in the dewy grass.

I read once that kabballists believe that every single blade of grass has a soul, and that fairies and gnomes dance among them. And indeed, I felt compelled to thank the grass for providing a soft base beneath my feet, and ask forgiveness for any unkindness my trodding inflicted. Now, if I start seeing the fairies and gnomes, please adjust my medication, folks.

And now I am back, with the expanse of the day before me filled with possibilities. I am blessed, with the warmth of the sun and the warmth of my family. I look forward to a day working in my backyard, my developing sanctuary.

I think back many years to my first feeble attempts at gardening in our home in California (unsuccessful I may add!), remembering how I knew, KNEW, that a garden spot was to become very important in my life. I could not explain why or where, how or when, but something in me KNEW that there would come a time and place where I would create a garden, and find peace there. I am filled with excitement and energy as I now build it, watch with some strange detached amazement that it is coming to pass.

It has become my place of worship, my Sunday morning blessing.

Did You Know?

Recently my sister and I spoke of regret, of guilt, of actions perhaps we should have taken during the last days of our parent's lives. I told her of the night I felt I should have stayed at the hospital with my father, after hearing from the nurses of his uncomfortable and distressing night. He was confused. Disoriented. Afraid. It was just one night, but it burns painfully in me still.

I came across this poem written about nine months after he had passed away.

Did you know?
Did you know you were dying?
Did you make your peace
alone in the hospital room?
Did you cry out?
Should.
I should have stayed.
I should have been with you.
Held your hand
Quieted your fears
Caressed your brow in the night.
I should have been your beacon
of familiarity.
Did you cry out?
Did you shout?
Did they hear?
Did they listen?
Did they comfort?
Did they ignore?
Regret.
I regret not the life I built
so many miles away
over so many years.
I regret your life I abandoned
at the last days.
I regret the warm hug I left behind.
I regret leaving too soon.
Should.
I should have been your voice.
I should have been your advocate
your legs your voice.
I should have stayed the night.
Remorse.
I'm sorry.
You have left those haunted nights behind
and have moved on to the better place.
Those nights now haunt me.
Did you know?
Did you make your peace?
Did you see Our Father?
Did He stay with you?
Please, I pray
you were not alone.
Did you know?
Did you know how much we loved you?
Will you forgive my ignorance
of your needs?
You always knew mine and
I failed you
I failed you
I failed you