Several things come to mind with this post. A big move, a big loss...I'll start with the move. I was dreading moving from Beaufort County, SC to Charleston County. My husband wanted the move, but I didn't really. Both of us are retired, and I had a volunteer job that I loved on Hunting Island, and in which I was needed (or thought I was). But with the move, opportunities for greater service opened up for me. I found that I could use my writing skills in a unique way to fill a real need within the organization that I served as a volunteer. Further, just the initial move in my twenties from my hometown in Tennessee first to Georgia, and decades later in my sixties to South Carolina, helped me to learn and understand for the first time what slavery and the struggles of the African Americans must have been like. I now live on an island that is more than 50% African American, probably most if not all of whom are the direct descendants of sea island slaves, and I have the most profound respect for these people...something that I could ever have received from my upbringing in Tennessee or from my many years in Atlanta. Now for the loss. I've noticed that a profound change comes over me when I experience loss of a friend, of a sister, even of a beloved pet. When it happens, all I feel is love along with the deep sadness. All of the edges get knocked off of me, and all I want is to be kind.
Sometimes, when I worry about growing old and perhaps someday being alone in the world, I reread the Mary Oliver poem "In Praise of Craziness of a Certain Kind," and it comforts me so much. Here's how it goes:
On cold evenings
my grandmother,
With ownership of half her mind--
The other half having flown back to Bohemia-
spread newspapers on the porch floor
so, she said, the garden ants could crawl beneath,
Several things come to mind with this post. A big move, a big loss...I'll start with the move. I was dreading moving from Beaufort County, SC to Charleston County. My husband wanted the move, but I didn't really. Both of us are retired, and I had a volunteer job that I loved on Hunting Island, and in which I was needed (or thought I was). But with the move, opportunities for greater service opened up for me. I found that I could use my writing skills in a unique way to fill a real need within the organization that I served as a volunteer. Further, just the initial move in my twenties from my hometown in Tennessee first to Georgia, and decades later in my sixties to South Carolina, helped me to learn and understand for the first time what slavery and the struggles of the African Americans must have been like. I now live on an island that is more than 50% African American, probably most if not all of whom are the direct descendants of sea island slaves, and I have the most profound respect for these people...something that I could ever have received from my upbringing in Tennessee or from my many years in Atlanta. Now for the loss. I've noticed that a profound change comes over me when I experience loss of a friend, of a sister, even of a beloved pet. When it happens, all I feel is love along with the deep sadness. All of the edges get knocked off of me, and all I want is to be kind.
Sometimes, when I worry about growing old and perhaps someday being alone in the world, I reread the Mary Oliver poem "In Praise of Craziness of a Certain Kind," and it comforts me so much. Here's how it goes:
On cold evenings
my grandmother,
With ownership of half her mind--
The other half having flown back to Bohemia-
spread newspapers on the porch floor
so, she said, the garden ants could crawl beneath,
as under a blanket, and keep warm,
and what shall I wish for, for myself,
but, being so struck by the lightning of years,
to be like her with what is left, that loving.
Dory this is so beautiful to read, from beginning to end. Thanks so much for sharing ✨