The end of the journey...

I'd wanted to go for a walk in the forest alone. To weep, perhaps. To think. He wanted to come, though...the two-year old. I did not say no.

He was exhuberant, drinking in the summer sun, wading through the meadow grasses...chasing his shadow. Trying to hide from me in the bushes. Insisting on taking the 'other' path.

I watched him running down the trail. His arms outstretched and and his face tilted to the sky.

I did my thinking...remembering when I was a child and the entire world was new and exciting and oh so beautiful. I thought that my Mom, too, had been a child once, had likely run down a summer path ahead of her mother, and basked in the glory that is our world.

I do not know when Mom learned that life was not forever...that she was here but for a short time.  Whenever it was, she did not let that news bother her at all.  She took it in stride. Death was just what happened at the end of life...and was of little importance and worthy of no worry or seeking or wondering. Life was where her focus was, where her energy went.  Unlike me...

I was very young when I discovered death, perhaps 3 or 4. While others my age were contemplating faerys and rainbows, I was desperately trying to wrap my mind around the concepts of infinity and mortality. Many were the nights when I would not be able to sleep...terrified of the dark and of dying. I'd creep down the stairs and fling myself into my mom's arms, sobbing about matters for which I had very few words.

I remember Mom became exasperated by my fretting, by my questions that have no answers, by my negativity. Why do we live if we're only going to die? Why? Why? Why? What will happen to you, Mommy, when you die? What will happen to me? Who will hold me? Kiss me? Dry my tears? Love me? Who will do that when you die?

"I won't die until you're ready for me to die," she'd finally promised in an effort to allay my panic and get me back to bed.

Mom passed away last month at the age of 94. I guess I was finally ready.

Eileen Schuh, Canadian Author
 www.eileenschuh.com

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The power...

The grandbaby and mama were napping, snowflakes were falling, the dog was asleep and I had a chance to blog. I thought I ought to write about all the exciting things happening career-wise for me but  all I could think about was the lovely bright eyes of the baby. The way way her dark hair was a startling contrast to her pink outfits.

I thought about the little snorffly sounds she makes and the cute way her mouth bows, and how when she sleeps, her lips lift into a smile. About her tiny hands and wee toes and the fact she's named after my mother, me, and my daughter. And about how she was born on Mother's Day. And how my daughter's face lights up when she looks at her. How the son-in-law buys outfits and how the 2-year old loves his baby sister.

I thought about how powerful babies are--how they grab your emotions, steal your heart, alter your life. So powerful and yet so vulnerable. So wee. So fragile.

Ahhhhh....the power of the newborn...new life. Old genes. The hair like mine, the eyes like papa, the cheeks like the brother... Her own little frown.

Oh, to be able to create characters in my novels that are as moving, entrancing, emotionally-consuming...as powerful as a newborn. As vulnerable. Characters that knock the readers right out of reality and trap them in the story. Characters that make everyone care about what happens to them. Characters that make readers wonder what the future holds.

The granddaughter's papa said it struck him that someday he will be walking his baby girl down the aisle. Grandchildren take one both forward and back...back to my daughter's wedding, my daughter's birth, my wedding...my father, my baby pictures. Forward to weddings and descendents and stories and lore... Like the first book in a good series.

Except a thousand times better...

Eileen Schuh, Canadian Author
www.eileenschuh.com