I came to fatherhood as delinquent.
A truant. My charter: imprudence.
And then, in one small announcement …
well, let me put it like this:
There are upheavals in life so incandescent they rival the sun.
Moments so big they threaten to burst the sternum.
Such is the arrival of a child,
the entrance of a small deity into this realm,
coming home to live with you, as though, after all that,
this is somehow ordinary!
And while your parenthood apprenticeship has seen failures,
in the end, all your self-direction,
all your attempts to curate a carefree life,
are happily cast into the wash.
Which is why, in this time of pestilence,
quarantined by requirement,
isolated, as commands authority,
your arms begin to ache
at the absence of your grown children.
Or — vitally and more inclusively — all those
you love at depth, any and all those your mind and soul
have long borne to your heart — such, that you couldn’t
think of your life otherwise.
In such a place the simple sinuous memory of a hug
can bring water to your eyes.
What is more natural than a hug?
What is more unnatural than its codified banishment?
Dying for want of touch,
is not apocryphal.
But even this is eclipsed by our determination to safeguard
those we treasure.
So here we are, straining to see behind the pixels,
reaching through screens with both arms
to cup a face in our hands.
Barring that, we toil in our text mills,
haul words up out of the water,
drum-barked, rough-sawn to the cant,
slabs enough to make a word-raft,
send it out:
I’ll see you down river, I can’t wait, I love you!
While ‘word-raft’ wants, wisdom waits ‘down river’, with love!
Thank you Ike!
Dear Stephen, thank you for this text. I have no children nor grandchildren but I have relations, and those in Ukraine are suffering terribly inside a health “system” that has forsaken those who cannot pay. And so my sister and I send money. Like your “text mills,” our Canadian dollars are the best we can do to reach out to them. Ambulances will not come when summoned, or those that do arrive at the hospitals find that the patients will not be admitted except at hospitals in the larger centres that treat Covid but which have no more beds; doctors and nurses stay away from their posts because they lack PPE; only private labs (pay-for-hard-currency-service) administer tests. And so we send money to save lives…And I “attend” virtual Divine Liturgy streaming from a church in Edmonton and join in corporate “prayer”. Today is the Feast of St Andrew, the First-Called, and Fr Tim in his Homily said we who are baptized into Christ are all “called” into service. So here I am, alone at home, unable to support my neighbourhood cafes (for instance) when they are shuttered, unable to visit the sick or feed the hungry except to …send money. And observe the Nativity Fast in solitary examination of conscience.
Oh Myrna, my heart goes out to you and to your relations in this brutish time. How I wish we could meet for coffee again. Sending love.
Oh, Stephen. So perfectly captured.
Thank you so much Joyce!
? how beautifully you express what we are feeling. Thank you for putting words to the ache.
Thank you for that Sue!
Thank you, Stephen. A beautiful ‘raft’ that has carried me. Yesterday we did a drive-by Christmas gift delivery to our daughter, son-in-law and wee Thea, almost 18 months old. Our dog was the only one who managed to get close enough for a snuffle. My arms long, my heart aches and the tears fall, but God is the comfort and solace we all need at this time. Bless you and yours.
Thank you Marcia! And despite all, may you have a blessed Christmas.
Yup… I couldn’t agree more with you Steve!!! Love how you have framed this feeling!
That means a lot, thank you Kathleen!
This is exquisite. Thank you Stephen. Btw….I enjoy seeing…and hearing…your poems on the pep zooms. “Toiling in our text mills” ….youve nailed it. Sending you only light for the season….the shortest day coming soon…and yes, to down river!
Ah thank you dear Terry Ann! So good to see and hear your wonderful work at PEP as well.
Making me cry and miss you all the more. This is beautiful!
Thank you Tery! Miss you! Love you!
As Teryl notes, you are making me cry. Both of my sons will be stranded in the cities where they are studying — alone, very alone — for the holidays. They are not willing to take the risk of traveling or potentially bringing COVID home to mom and dad.
Mom and dad are looking forward to the holiday season (i.e. 2 weeks of closed campuses) to escape countless Zoom hours with students or in dreadful meetings, yet the only way we will be able to connect with our children is..sigh…via technology. Of course, it is better than not connecting at all, but the 2-dimensional, sometimes fuzzy, images are not hugs, are not walks together to talk birds, science, life.
Thank you for articulating so beautifully the ache and the absence we are experiencing.
Thanks so much Diane. Truly a strange and difficult time, made more so by the relinquishing of a ‘regular’ Christmas. Wishing you comfort and peace.
The physical distancing may be one of the more pernicious, albeit necessary, effects of the pandemic.
“Family therapist Virginia Satir once said, ‘We need four hugs a day for survival. We need 8 hugs a day for maintenance. We need 12 hugs a day for growth.’ While that may sound like a lot of hugs, it seems that many hugs are better than not enough.”
I like that recipe Sam. Thanks!