There is something I am not seeing. There must be.
I am unable to fight back the waves. I erect a barrier, and it holds, briefly. Then it crumbles, and I am knocked down and submerged. I pull myself up and rebuild, as another wall of water rises beneath a deceptive sky. And I am down again, because I wished to believe in a calm sea.
The wave recedes for a time. I dare to look up and find beauty. I remember to look down and find reality. I am aware of polished glass and smooth shell, warmth and grit beneath my feet. But sand is impermanent; it bears my weight, and yet it moves. There is nothing solid in this moment, nothing solid in my standing.
I am standing nonetheless, readying for the next devastating wave.
* * * * *
In the waters, I have held my sons, tightly, to keep them safe. I have used my wits and my body to protect them against the bursting dams, the continual flooding, the churning currents, the detritus in the aftermath. But the pounding never ceases for long. It may stall, but I know that to be a ruse; the eye of the storm. The waves will return – more insidious, more audacious, more destructive.
One child is free. He has learned to navigate difficult currents and he is strong. He escapes to other territories, returns to meet the waves head on.
* * * * *
Battered, I find my bearings with increasing difficulty. I search for markers, for the bright fire, however small. I am still the guardian of another child’s dreams, still treading water until the next mooring, the life jacket, the tow rope.
Somewhere, there is a place of rich soil and hot sun. Somewhere, there is a map to follow, that will lead us away from these waters. Perhaps that is the dream – that such a place may still exist, at least in youth.
* * * * *
I am fine. I am cracked. I am fine.
Each morning, I put on my public face. I write in the quiet. I tend to errands and mothering. I proceed with the mechanical. Its familiarity feels like progress: another hour, another afternoon, another day closer to rescuing dreams against all odds. I do my job of shopping, cooking, asking about homework, driving, fetching, praising the accomplishment, reining in the unacceptable. Pulling rabbits out of the hat.
I observe. I listen. I walk through the days and nights looking over my shoulder. For the next wave. And I say the words: this is my worry, we’ll figure it out, I’ll do my best.
* * * * *
I know my courage, and it isn’t enough. I know my love, and it isn’t enough. I teach survival, gingerly, and the power of dreams, with conviction. And neither is enough.
I need the tides to turn, my face to dry, the sun to know an alternative to this life, navigation away from this treacherous shoreline – a path, that I cannot see.
© D A Wolf
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this is a beautiful image of motherhood…and the waves seem endless. Just when i seem to get my bearings another one crashes.
Hi Michelle, and welcome. Yes, the waves seem endless, don’t they.
press on, the alternatives are not better
dont forget to take care of yourself too
I’m running out of rabbits to pull out of the hat, jason. Perhaps I need a bigger hat, and the rabbits would appear.
Oh girl… I love this. Beautiful. And I felt every single wave..
You know the single parent’s life. Wave after wave, year after year. Thanks, T.
This is so beautiful. that darn tide. but it is beautiful even in its danger or perhaps because if it!
I don’t know.
It’s not just the angry current we try and protect are children from, we try and protect ourselves, so we can be better people, better parents.
I wrote a poem a long time ago.
I am a piece of seaweed
lying on a desolate beach
waiting for the tide
to take me
to a new beginning and a new end.
Lovely. Thank you so much for sharing this, Terry.
Wolfie, YOU are a portrait of courage. Truly. Single parenting. Two teen boys. Pain and fatigue. But my goodness, you just keep going. And that’s the real courage right there, the ability to keep taking it in stride. Just amazing.
I’ve been knocked down again, Eva. And my kid has been knocked down. Not taking it in stride at all. Not feeling courageous. Only worn out. And hoping tomorrow will provide an answer to get out of the way of the latest wave.
Oh I feel your frustration in these words. It’s beautifully done, poetry in fact. But I wish it wasn’t happening to you.
I am sorry that you need to summon so much courage to get through the days, ones which should feature calm seas at least some of the time instead of the tidal waves against which you have to buffer yourself and your sons. May a lifeboat – or, hell, one of those giant Carnival cruise ships – turn up, ready to tow you to shore – or at least let you stay aboard for awhile and gorge yourself at the buffet.
I have no words today. Feeling just as beaten today. So the only thing I can say is, I get it.
Thank you, Kristen and Maureen.
And April, I know you get it. The tragedy is how many of us – generally women, and mothers – are riding out a perpetual storm that can go on for years.
Don’t know if you know this, but your courage? Gives me courage.
This is why I’m in awe of women, of single moms, of women like you, BLW. The everyday acts of bravery that you perform, the beautiful way you share your struggles, the painfully honest words you write about the path not yet visible.
I love the wave metaphor. I fantasize about riding it (and barreling it!), but in reality, we can’t ride a wave without a surfboard…
I have tears in my eyes blw. Because you of all people, so beautiful in your words, so lovely in your images, so amazing in your strength… do not deserve to feel this way. You are the face of courage in this post… to keep pushing, keep rescuing, keep facing adversity and we are all here to support you.
Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow you will find a bigger hat. And knowing you, it will be a very stylish one at that.
xoxo
This is so powerful and hauntingly beautiful all at the same time. Sometimes it’s courage just to try and face the day. Our private battles, hidden from the rest of the world, can feel so overwhelming. You said such beautiful, comforting things to me on my post today. I only have hugs in return. It feels so inadequate.
Hugs and good thoughts are never inadequate. Thank you, all of you. I only wish I had the wisdom to know what to do, as the latest wave has hit. And I don’t. I don’t. No matter what I do, my child is hurt.
This post is amazing and humbling and so very true. Thank you so much for sharing.
Beautiful…I think you are more courageous than you give yourself credit for.
You have more courage and fearlessness than you realize. That’s the thing about those qualities; you don’t usually recognize them in yourself when you are in the midst of the waves. It’s the times in between the waves when you are given the gift of knowing just how strong you really are. You are fearless!
I’m feeling beaten too, for different reasons. I’m finding strength in my kids, and losing it elsewhere. Nice imagery in your post.
Survival and courageous can often be synonymous. Please remember that while it may not always feel like it, that your journey is yours alone and that each day you make the decision to face it and that is courageous. You are not alone. We are here to remind you of your value as a writer and as a mother.
BLW – I am so sorry that you are having this struggle. Especially if your child is hurting as well.
Single motherhood is not easy, by any stretch of the imagination. I have been there too, in those waves. Know this, though, really, there is hope. I know it, I believe it.
You will find a way, the wisdom will come to you. You have so much courage. I admire your strength. Know that you are surrounded by the lifeboats. Grab on, we are here.
The waves keep crashing, but you aren’t wading through and fighting them alone. We are here, standing with you, arms and hands and hearts linked. You are strong enough without us, but we’re here anyway. Never forget that.
Hey there. mid move and still not settled but just wanted to say that I totally relate. I have terrible, vivid dreams everynight -often about being behind or being chased and often wake up completely frazzled. you are not alone-and remember- it really *is* a dream!
Delia Lloyd
http://www.realdelia.com
Simply …. you
I treasure your writing
BLW – I hope this day finds you with renewed courage that is enough, with renewed love that covers the bad spots, with renewed health that allows you to push on and back.
Wolf, I can’t even type for fear that I will add something trite into this beautiful representation of motherhood. You really do amaze me.
Ah, I am so upset on so many levels for you. It shouldn’t be an act of courage just to get out of bed in the morning.
Like Kristen, I wish a lifeboat would show up soon.
My heart aches as I read this. So much beauty – so much pain. I have the utmost respect for single parents. To compensate, you love enough for two, you worry enough for two but that also means you’re courageous enough for two. And sometimes that could weigh heavily on you, and while I can offer no solace, please do know that I admire your strength and your courage.
You inspire me with your words every day, and I hardly know you – I can only imagine what you must do for your sons. While you can’t protect them each time, know that what you have instilled in them will carry them through.
Oh, BLW. It hurts me to read your beautiful words. To share through them the challenges that you face. And yet, your writing is so beautiful, and your love for your sons so deep. Courage. It is here. You will go on. You will face and fight and celebrate.
You are courageous and loving. You are resilient. The tides will turn, and we will see you sitting on the sandy beach basking in the sunshine with a margarita in your hand. You are too wonderful of a woman not to get your day in the sun. Blessings to you, BLW.
Thank you all for your kind words. Some days feel impossibly ambiguous.
If your children don’t read your blog make sure that at some point they do. They deserve to see how much you have done for them and you deserve to be acknowledged.
Thanks Jack. Kind words.
Powerful words, the picture you paint is very raw. I wish you to find that sunshine, because you deserve it. You are a wonderful, amazing woman, it’s in you, I just know it. You show us often here, in this amazing place of yours.
Your words are haunting and poetic. The waves come and go and you are the anchor against the highs and lows of the current. I hope you know that. I love the lyric tone of your voice and glad that I discovered your writing through Five for Ten. Thank You.
BLW, lovely post. Worried for you and the struggles you’re going through.