In
the corner of our bedroom, tucked into the cradle of space between the dresser
and the wall, is Anna’s spot. A thick down comforter, folded in quarters, fills
that space. Two soft lap blankets stack on
top of a pillow, and a soft red stuffed fox leans against them…waiting for Anna
to return. Every night, and every morning, I mentally pause at that spot when I
pass from my side of the bed to the rest of the world, thinking about how
deeply I love my girl. That thought
automatically triggers a silent prayer for her well being, which leads to a
continued prayer for all ten of our grandchildren.
When
Anna sleeps over, this is her sleeping place.
After she has brushed her teeth, and we have recited her family scripture and said a prayer, we will read a book out on the couch, or up on the bed. Then she
will lay her long sable hair against the pillow in her spot, curl her slender
little legs up toward her heart, and wrap her arms around whichever stuffed animal
happens to be close by. Lately it’s the red fox. I will shake one of the lap quilts like a
parachute and let it fall over her nine-year-old body. On winter nights we follow it with a second
blanket. I bend way over, kissing my
fingers, then touching her forehead, and I tell her I love her. She whispers “I love you, too.” And all is
well.
Years
ago, a lifetime ago it seems, our Kate had a similar spot at my mother’s
place. All my kids had their own spot at
Gram’s house. But Kate’s, in particular,
was kept warm by the continued presence of Kate. She sure loved staying at Gram and Libby’s
house! I suppose it was the relative quiet, and the great sense of belonging
that attracted her quiet soul. And maybe
the lack of limitations on television viewing. Those were the days before
On-Demand cable TV, and even before video recorders. One of her favorite things was staying up
into the wee hours watching paid advertising shows. For her 5th birthday, the only
thing she asked for was a Ronco Dehydrator.
Memory
is an interesting vehicle for human connection.
I can hear, somewhere back there in my brain, the sound of my mother’s
voice telling Kate, “Go get in your spot.” There is a warmth and safety in
those words, and it makes me ache with longing for my mom.
Sometimes
I’ll lie in my bed and look at Anna’s spot, pondering the fleeting nature of
time, and the eternal nature of love. Other people would fold those blankets
and tuck them into a closet, but I just can’t.
I choose to keep the blankets prepared in that space as a reminder of my
blessed opportunity with the little treasures who call me Gummy. Like a shrine of sorts; a reminder to give
thanks. I’ll look over at that spot and
cherish it when there is a little lump of love under those blankets. A week ago
Anna’s seven-year-old cousin, Ruby, slept over and filled the spot. It sealed me to Ruby the way it seals me to
Anna.
The
thing about having a spot of your own is that you can return there emotionally,
even if your feet are planted elsewhere.
A therapist taught me to visit such safe spots in my mind. It’s a good
strategy. I didn't have grandparents or any other relatives in Pittsburgh when I was young. But I do have two safe spots where I
go in my mind; childhood spots where I feel peace.
One is the orchard of dwarf apple trees next to the YMCA behind our house on Grace Street. We had recently moved from small town Idaho to the bustling suburbia of Pittsburgh, PA. I was five years old. The orchard in the springtime was a paradise of blossoms, fragrant and abundant, and because they were dwarf trees they hovered just over my head. Walking through that orchard as a small girl I nearly hyperventilated because I never wanted to exhale; just one long fragrant inhale. It was in this spot where I believe my spirit fully embraced my body. I know it sounds dramatic, but it was my reality. I remember looking up through the translucent canopy of blossoms, up through the chartreuse green of newborn leaves, out to the expanse of clouds and sky. The divine temperature of a moist spring afternoon coupled with the song of robins and other creatures of the earth. I remember it vividly. My hands reached up to snatch a cluster of apple blossom when I noticed the skin on my arm. I grabbed my left wrist with my right hand and stood stunned! “I have a body!” I said it out loud, though no one was there to hear me. I think this was the moment when I first allowed my ancient spirit to own my earthly body, and something inside me told me that I was blessed. Now, when I need to feel peace and calm, I visit that orchard in my mind.
One is the orchard of dwarf apple trees next to the YMCA behind our house on Grace Street. We had recently moved from small town Idaho to the bustling suburbia of Pittsburgh, PA. I was five years old. The orchard in the springtime was a paradise of blossoms, fragrant and abundant, and because they were dwarf trees they hovered just over my head. Walking through that orchard as a small girl I nearly hyperventilated because I never wanted to exhale; just one long fragrant inhale. It was in this spot where I believe my spirit fully embraced my body. I know it sounds dramatic, but it was my reality. I remember looking up through the translucent canopy of blossoms, up through the chartreuse green of newborn leaves, out to the expanse of clouds and sky. The divine temperature of a moist spring afternoon coupled with the song of robins and other creatures of the earth. I remember it vividly. My hands reached up to snatch a cluster of apple blossom when I noticed the skin on my arm. I grabbed my left wrist with my right hand and stood stunned! “I have a body!” I said it out loud, though no one was there to hear me. I think this was the moment when I first allowed my ancient spirit to own my earthly body, and something inside me told me that I was blessed. Now, when I need to feel peace and calm, I visit that orchard in my mind.
My
other spot had peace as well, though there was a more intense sort of love that
came with the peace, and there are times I need to visit that place rather than
the orchard. Warm and rhythmic and fragrant as well, this spot is in the lap of
my mother. I have to travel way back to
go there. I can feel her long fingers patting my back, the melodic rumble of her voice finding the music to
calm me. I can hear her heartbeat, and though I cannot identify it by comparing
it to other things, the scent of her is planted unalterably in my mind. She is
safety and she is assurance and she is calm and she is love. Once, when I was
sixteen and something had wounded my heart, I asked my mother if she would hold
me for a minute. She sat down in her old
white rocker and patted her lap, looking into my eyes. I hesitantly stood there before her, then
slowly lowered my grown girl body into her warm lap. She tucked my head into her neck and stroked
my hair. Instinctively she started
humming. I curled my body into her and
wept. I can’t recall what was the
sorrow, but I profoundly recall the love.
Think
back: where is your spot? What place, or
places, are safe for your soul? I
suspect, for all of us, there is one, somewhere. If we will focus, and ponder, we will find
it.