His Birthday Too

We just had a birthday, Little Bear and me. I am 50; he is 10. Milestones for us both. It was 10 years ago that I packed it up and left the X. We moved out on Halloween weekend. On the advice of a friend, my daughter was staying at her friend's house that weekend, and they were having pure Halloween fun. That left Little Bear, The Empress (cat), and me that first night in our new home, the second floor of that old tumble down house that was nice once but in shabby disrepair now. The tenants downstairs were moving in that weekend too. He needed to do some plumbing repairs and shut off the water. So we were waterless after our grubby move, but I dealt with it, like I deal with everything, by enduring. Little Bear was young then, about 8 months old. He barked at every sound. He jumped up in the window to look out at whatever sparked his interest down on the street below. He got caught in the cord of my new lamp and pulled it off the table. I told him to shut up, I picked up the lamp and put it in a different spot, I got back in bed and tried to sleep. I did what I do: pick up the pieces, and start over again.

As the weather got colder, and the days shorter, I would awaken early to the company of the dog and the cat. Little Bear's bed was at the foot of my bed, my futon on the floor. The Empress would sleep with me. In the cold and the increasing dark, Little Bear and I would head out first thing for a walk, so he could pee and sniff and stretch his legs. I couldn't just let him out the back door; we had virtually no yard. And so we'd walk. Five times a day, at least, I would take him for a walk so he could do what he needed to do. I was used to the unlimited access to the outdoors that country living provides, but I was in the village now, and wasn't sure of everyone's turf. So, first thing in the morning and last thing at night, right before work, right after work, and after supper. It kept me occupied and it kept me distracted. I could focus on him and not focus on the cold, my loneliness, my uncertainty, the solitude of this new stage in my life--this constant time of improvisation, on my own with a child depending on me. I had been on my own before but not with the responsibility of a daughter. I had to make sure things were right. I had to provide a good environment for her. I did not expect her to endure like I did, or sleep at the foot of my bed like a dog. I did not want her to know how hard or how scary it was for me. She was just 8 years old. I did not want her to have adult sized worries. I did not let her see how hard it was for me. And now that she is older, and acts all unconcerned about how hard things are for me, I have to get over my annoyance and remind myself why: I made it that way. I succeeded at not laying my worries on her. I let her be a child.

Anyway, that made Little Bear my main emotional support. My puppy, now 10 years old. I look at him and see a major stage in my life, a time of huge transition, challenge, and accomplishment. I was so alone when I first moved to this village. But I had a warm, loving dog to brighten up the cold, dark dawns. I am prey to anxiety when I first wake up. His happy face and his daily good morning kiss--he still does it, comes over and licks me when he sees I am awake--chase the worries back into their dark webs in the obscure corners they originate from.

The other thing I see when I look back over this 10 years past is the home I found in this village when I followed the white light of my meditative vision to the big old brick church on the corner. The one with the pretty windows. The one with the sweet faced woman pastor robed in white with a rainbow stole around her neck, a woman who lives her faith, who shines the light of Jesus' love and responds with compassionate kindness to all who seek her attention. She does! She is the Real Deal. And so, that church is such a welcoming place. I could feel the love and the warmth the first time I walked into that sanctuary. I have friends there, solid friends, like family, only better because they are people trying to follow the light of the values Jesus taught them--love unconditionally, forgive, be compassionate, be kind. ("I was a stranger and you welcomed me in..." Matthew 25:35b) I am anchored in my life thanks partly to them. I have brightness and laughter thanks partly to them. They welcomed me in. They didn't judge me or disbelieve me. They let me be me. In their loving space, I have healed. They, and Little Bear and Bumby and my daughter and all the other critters who live here have helped me re-root myself so that I might thrive on this sunny hillside above the river, my heart's home.

Until next time, I remain, your friend, Rozenkraai

('Rozenkraai and Little Bear' photo by my daughter)