You could say, we are waiting here.
Waiting to find out which colleges will accept Jack for next fall. (So far, one yes, one no, one wait list.) Waiting to see what choices he’ll make and which school — after a year of working and living on his own and figuring out whether he even wants to go to college at all — will finally feel like “the one.” Waiting to see if the next round of X-rays will show further healing in his two broken vertebrae. Waiting for his pain to disappear. Waiting to find out if he’ll be able to play tennis again or have to content himself with being a passionate fan. Waiting to learn which doors have closed in his young life and which have yet to open before him.
We’re waiting to hear if the job Henry has his heart set on will pan out. Waiting for the musical he’s co-directing to be performed. Waiting to know where he’ll be working for the summer. Waiting to find out where he’ll be living next year. Waiting to see if he’s going to need a car. Waiting for him to decide whether grad school is still part of the picture. Waiting to see if the pull of a someday-maybe Broadway dream turns out to be as powerfully alluring as the illusion of security conferred by a paycheck and a plan.
We are waiting for two young adults’ ever-shifting and unknowable futures to become the nailed-down and predictable present-tense, for dreams to become reality, hopes to be realized, expectations fulfilled, applications accepted or denied, next steps executed, careers revealed, life to turn this way or that.
And then another letter arrives from a reader who has lost a child. I turn the calendar to March and realize it’s been ten years since my dear friend’s son was murdered three months before his college graduation while trying to save a teammate who was being beaten on a street corner. I open the newspaper and read the headline: “BU student dies at party.” A new friend on Facebook posts that, had her daughter lived, she would be turning twelve today. I find myself in tears as I read Emily Rapp’s fiercely moving memoir of parenting her son Ronan, who died of Tay- Sachs disease last month, just shy of his third birthday.
Life is long, I like to tell myself. But of course, that isn’t always true. Everything will turn out for the best, we assure our children, and ourselves. But that’s not always the case either. Sometimes life is cut short. And sometimes the most beautiful dreams are derailed by tragedy. Sometimes children get sick or hurt and sometimes they leave us. How foolish and naive, to think we think we can skim along on the surface of life without cultivating, at the same time, an intimate relationship with its dark and unknown depths. And how much we sacrifice when we trade the quiet, unobtrusive pulse of the moment that is right here, right now, for the false promise of some brightly imagined future.
Last night, while Henry and his dad watched the Celtics game on TV, I climbed into bed with Emily Rapp’s book, Still Point of the Turning World. Ronan’s brief life was never about making progress or racking up achievements; he was only nine months old when his parents were told their baby boy was going to die. Emily’s task, then, wasn’t ever to prepare her son to succeed in the world, but to love him just as he was for as long as he was here. Somehow, every moment of her mothering had to contain multitudes: both the joy of being Ronan’s mom and the grief of letting him go.
Perhaps there is no one better suited to speak to us distracted, harried, future-oriented parents than a mother who has had no choice but to live in the “now” and to embrace her child in the moment because he will not live long enough to have a “someday.”
“How does the knowledge that nothing lasts forever and that all of our time is limited change the way we approach the world?” Emily asks.
And then, like the best spiritual mentors, she answers her own unanswerable question with more questions:
“Will we be fearless in our pursuit to live a life we consider big and beautiful, no matter what other people might think of our choices and no matter what difficult changes we might have to make? How does this knowledge affect the way we parent? Not knowing what tomorrow will bring, would we be so concerned with our children’s ‘progress’ and perhaps more interested in activities that simply make them happy?”
The sun is rising as I type these words, pouring light into the sky after two days of snow. In a few minutes, I’ll shut down my computer, take a shower, go out for blueberry pancakes with my husband and older son. Later today, I’ll do a reading at the bookstore in the town where I grew up. I’ll hold up the 12-foot long piece of blue finger-knitting that Jack did when he was five, giving me the title for my first book, Mitten Strings for God, which contained everything I knew as a young mother about slowing down and paying attention. And then I’ll drive to the bus stop and pick up my 20-year-old son and bring him back to the house for dinner. We’ll light the candles, hold hands for a moment before we start to eat, say “Blessings on the meal and each other.”
I will mention, as I always do when we’re all home together, how happy I am to have everyone at the table. My husband will agree and our sons, who have yet to fully comprehend that each human life is a progression of farewells, will no doubt roll their eyes.
And then I’ll remind myself: there is nothing to wait for. All we need, we have.
To read an essay by Emily Rapp and watch her Today Show appearance, click here.
And I cannot recommend her exquisitely written and profoundly generous book, Still Point of the Turning World, highly enough.
Magical Journey News
Months before my book was published, I told my friend Ann Patchett that my only real aspiration as an author was to do an event at her bookstore. So it was definitely a disappointment to get all the way to Nashville during publication week in January, only to have an ice storm shut the entire city down an hour before I was supposed to read. Happily, we’ve rescheduled just before Mother’s Day. I’ll be back at Parnassus on Thursday, May 2.
From Nashville, I’ll go straight to Minneapolis for my last two appearances: The annual Motherhood and Words talk at the Loft Literary Center on Saturday, May 4 and, finally, to cap it all off, a reading at Common Good Books, Garrison Keillor’s beloved bookstore in downtown St. Paul on Monday, May 6. I can’t wait! (And then I’m looking forward to coming home for good, stowing my suitcase in the closet, and digging in the garden.)
Magical Journey is a book that seems to sell one copy at at a time, as one reader says to another, “Here, I think you’ll like this, too.” I haven’t seen it piled up on any bookstores’ front tables (except right here in my own hometown). There were no print ads, no big TV breaks, barely any reviews. And yet I am learning not to underestimate the power of word of mouth, of women’s passionate enthusiasm for books that speak to our real experience, and of our generosity toward one another. This morning, I signed 20 copies of Magical Journey and The Gift of an Ordinary Day for one California reader who is sending them to her special friends. This is word of mouth and then some!
Meanwhile, the online ripples continue to spread outward. If you’ve contributed to those widening circles — by liking my Facebook page, writing a review on Amazon, showing my video to your friends, or sharing my blog posts on Facebook and Twitter — thank you! (And if you’d like to help me by helping my book find its way in the world, these are quick and highly effective ways to keep it moving!) As you know, I’m always happy to sign bookplates (just drop me an email or FB message) and I can personalize copies of any of my books through my local bookstore, which will mail them right out to you. (That link is HERE.)
Loved these recent reviews and interviews:
Ali Edwards is a rock star to crafty types, with a huge and devoted following (and no wonder, her message about telling our own ordinary stories with words and pictures is as inspiring as it is irresistible). So of course I was pretty thrilled to be featured on her blog this week. Click here to read her lovely piece.
The Ali ripple effect actually began HERE, with Harriet Cabelly’s terrific Rebuild Your Life site.
I was honored when Amy Makechnie asked if I’d be her first interviewee in her new “fascinating person” series; I should have known she’d come up with questions as engaging as she herself is. Read the whole Maisymak interview HERE.
In a great many ways this piece is at the very crux of it all. We are all so often waiting, that is part of being human, and yet we should just be doing, doing whatever it is that is to be done in this moment.
I’m just about finished Magical Journey. I’ve been reading it slowly because it is one of those books I would prefer didn’t end. And just as with the rest of your writing I am learning so many things, things that I am glad to know with young children only just starting middle childhood. As always, thank you for that gift Katrina.
I love that we were reading Emily’a memoir simultaneously – kindred again. Thank you for this reminder that too much focus on what we are waiting for can utterly drain our lives of color. That’s the topic of my memoir-in-a-box, which served a good purpose in my writing it down. There is so much here. We just have to learn to see. Thank you for always pulling my attention back to that, to here, to now.
This is so beautifully written, Katrina. I tell myself to enjoy my life and children now. We have been so blessed thus far; and I try to live so I won’t regret. Love your books – and SO happy to have gotten to know you better through our fun interview 🙂
Thank you for this beautiful piece. We all need to remember to be present in the moment, rather than waiting for what is to come. My copy of Magical Journey arrived in the mail today. Thank you so much for your kindness and for your lovely inscription.
I love this post on waiting, will add this to my list of writings on my blog. Thank you for the reminder to be present and enjoy the NOW for that is all we need at this time.
So thrilled to find your blog and read your words again. I had to take your book Mitten Strings off the table and read parts of it today after finding you and will read more tonight after putting my kids to bed. It touches me as much now as it did then. Thanks so much for sharing and inspiring me!!
Thank you, this was a grounding thing to read tonight.
What I am currently waiting for, regarding my two sons:
Whether the younger one, with bipolar disorder, will pass two English classes and graduate from high school.
Whether the older one, a brilliant junior in college with schizoaffective disorder, will get out of the psychiatric hospital in time to make up school work and complete the semester.
Cherish your healthy children.
Great message as usual, Katrina. On my 8 hour bus ride today, I was just speaking about this with one of my fellow travelers. So many things we would do differently as parents if we could go back. Mostly just mellow out on all the things we thought were such a big deal at the time that turned out to be so meaningless in the long run. I appreciate your reminder that it’s not too late. Also, I just read the blog post by Ali. I thought, I know that name. I used to read her all the time in a scrapbooking magazine. She is so talented. Keeping my fingers crossed that all good news comes to Jack and Henry.
Hugs to you!
Lovely. I think there are different ways to learn the same lesson…somehow my painful, scary and lonely childhood gave me the ever present awareness of the icebergs underneath the water, the weight of things, knowing what really matters. I’ve carried this with me in good stead as a mother of four.
I am so touched, Katrina, to be mentioned in your post here. It is hard to believe my little angel would be 12 now. She taught me so many extraordinary things during her too-short 24 days on this planet. And sadly, as a parent of three more (healthy!) children, sometimes those lessons get overlooked in the rush of an ordinary day (which I am constantly trying to slow down and savor). One of the reasons your writing resonates so deeply for me is that every sentence, paragraph, blog post and book you write reminds me again and again of those deep and important life lessons that my little girl taught me. For that, I will always be grateful to you:)
I just saw the Today interview with Emily last night. I couldn’t stop the tears from running, thinking “there but for the Grace of God…” Your post is well-suited to my heart today…thanks. 🙂
Love, love, love your books. They each come into my life at precisely the right moment. When I am down or feeling the weight of parenthood or depressed because my 20something children are still
like fledglings not quite ready for flight, you seem to soothe me with your lullaby of life and I drink it up. Thank you for always popping up at the right time. You are therapy for my soul.
I’m about halfway through the book, Katrina, and I have thought of you and your message to “be here now” so often as I’m reading. I know a lot of mothers who have told me, “I just can’t read this book; it’ll make me too sad.” There is no denying that the story is a heart-breaking one, but there is so much in it that I find life-affirming. The message for all parents — despite the health status of their children — is universal and deeply-affecting: love them fully, right now, for who they are.
I live in New Mexico, and Emily will be speaking at my local bookstore next weekend. I plan on being in the audience.
We are also waiting as my youngest prepares to leave her beloved Waldorf and go to high school and my oldest searches for the right college. We are cherishing these days. I saw a stack of your books in Keene!
This touched me deeply today, and as I am finding while I read your book, Katrina, so much of what you write resonates with me in the deepest of ways. As we wait for a beloved son to find his way as a musician and watch a darling daughter and son-in-law struggle through infertility issues to have a much wanted child of their own, I know that there are no guarantees that it is all going to work out the way we would hope. I continually strive to find the blessings and love right here, right now – and there truly is so much of both. Thank you for your beautiful words.
This post could not have come at a more appropriate time, Katrina. We returned yesterday from a visit to our 26 year old son, who is pursuing a 5 year doctoral degree in an area of the country totally foreign to us, and as unlike his upbringing exposed him to as you could possibly get. While he seems happy, my heart breaks because he seems so alone at the same time, and I realize that I need to step back and let things happen on his terms, not ours.
I also get upset with myself at feeling this disquiet in my heart when I look around at the “problems” of others, even people in my own family and life. How can I be upset with my son’s situation – it’s a GOOD thing that he is following his dream, that he is healthy and has the ability to pursue any dream at all. Your post is yet another reminder to be grateful for everything that I have, and to be glad that my “problems” are nothing compared to those that others have to bear. Thank you.
There are so many books and so little time but will read Emily Rap’s book. THE VIEW FROM MY WINDOW is a very special book and have learned much from reading it. Thank you.
Oh Katrina you are so fierce. I know what it’s like to wait. It’s like staring into the mouth of a lion wondering what will happen. I wish you and your boys happiness, safety, health, and ease, over and over again.
(One thing that helps me when I wait is something Rolf said as we were waiting for more carrot cake at the Kripalu food bar: “I’ve come to believe that things will work out because that’s been my experience so far.) thank you for the book rec. I’ve seen it everywhere and am so inspired by Emily Rapp and the brave and beautiful way she lives.
I feel like a lot of people say to me, “Oh, your kids are still so young. It will be easier later.” I believe this will probably be true, and I frequently muse about a future reality, but I would also like to enjoy the now. At a yoga retreat this past weekend, our wise teacher challenged me to believe in abundance rather than imagining I inhabit existence of scarcity – of time, of health, of energy to be the mother and writer and friend and partner and daughter I want to be. My children cannot wait for me to grow up and to heal so that I can give them the childhood I want them to have; it may be gone by then! I do have to believe things will get better in some ways even if it gets harder in others. I know I can choose to just embrace what is. Today. And that is probably the most important lesson my children need to see modeled.
Thank you for sharing, Katrina.
Oh yes, my friend, then I’ll be digging in the garden, cultivating the empty field. I’ll meet you there.