I went to Mexico for nine days when my son Willoughby was 9. Rode mules and hiked through the Sierra Nevada Mountains with a group of folks — and one boy named Elliot. He and I really got along well. I sang songs to him about two orchids in a tree and I knit him a little brown wool hat when we reached the top of the mountain.
How does one parent one’s self when one has had no appropriate parenting? How do we teach ourselves our own value — and believe it — if we have not been valued or believed in. There are ways to do this, but it still remains a dogged, blessed, and endless process.
I live on the Senior Circle independent living apartments in Chester VT. We range in age from 50s to 90s. It is a different kind of living and caring for one another. Some are sweet, some not so. Some friendly, some not. Some outgoing, others very private. We are all a mixed bag at whatever age, but the immediacy of sudden disappearance from one day to the next either scares the bejeesus out of you — or helps you learn to live in and value each moment with each person. Peace to all as we live and learn with our elders.
pieces of the past tumble down —
impacting each present moment
and possible futures, or perhaps,
simply here for defragmentation.
. . . . .
Ahem… my partner was 51 and I was 41. We used three methods of birth control. He didn’t want any more children. When I became pregnant at 42 and told him, he turned to me and said, ‘For the love of God, what are you going to do?’ My response, “I don’t know, but the love of God will see me through.” The little Vermont village tale became one of placing blame on me, as if I were the only one who had been in the bed. Fortunately and thankfully, I now have a wondrous 25yo son, who I raised as a single mother. Yes, his biodad had to pay. Why shouldn’t he? He wasn’t willing to help in any other way.