|

These Are Days You’ll Remember

“These are days you’ll remember
Never before and never since
I promise
Will the whole world be warm as this
And as you feel it
You’ll know it’s true
That you are blessed and lucky
It’s true that you
Are touched by something
That will grow in you, in you”

These are days you'll remember, Never before and never since, I promise, Will the whole world be warm as this, And as you feel it

I’d love to have a week go by, and I could say, “Boy, what a quiet and uneventful week!”

I don’t even know if that’s possible anymore, for me, for you, for anyone. And I’m not sure what has changed. Is it aging and growing? Is it this country? Sometimes when I’m going through something, I know that it’s me going through it, but it changes my perspective on what other people are going through. Often, I can’t see past my own darkness and assume they are also in it. I can’t see how anyone isn’t in it. And yet, not everyone is in it. The world turns, in its treachery and utter joy, and I feel like I’m off-kilter, out of orbit, out of satellite’s path. When you’re in the darkness, do you wonder what is the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back? Or do you not even get there, instead spared by some sort of rescue light or hope, in whatever form that takes.

I’ve never been in this kind of darkness for this length of time, but there have been other shadows and reasons, and I do believe the length of time is determined by the need to build back the inner core and strength. Maybe make it more rust-proof and resilient. I believe and then I don’t believe but I always believe that there is a point to all of this, of course, and that the inner spark is maybe me, and maybe magic, but I don’t believe it goes out like a candle. It’s hard to see a way out of it. I always worry that my darkness is darker than other darknesses, but I also sometimes think my light and hope burn stronger than many. It’s just so existential and deep thinking and there is no space for relaxation or pleasure. I don’t even have the strength to ask for basic necessities, like hammock naps and long baths, much less enjoy such endeavors.

These are days you'll remember, Never before and never since, I promise, Will the whole world be warm as this, And as you feel it

“These are days you’ll remember
When May is rushing over you with desire
To be part of the miracles you see in every hour
You’ll know it’s true that you are blessed and lucky
It’s true that you
Are touched by something
That will grow and bloom in you”

Yet, I find a way. To eat salads, spend time with all four children, and even hope; sometimes dream. It’s because I think that it matters, or I know that it matters, somewhere, deep inside. Hidden in that spark of light and life, and sure to find its way back to my new despondent way of thinking. I can laugh and cry on a dime, and you can call it postpartum depression, but I can know it’s more than that. It’s grief and acknowledgement and acceptance. It’s a crisis, unlike any crisis I’ve ever faced, and it boils and turns within me; without me. And what will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back? My back? This world’s back? There are pollen tornados (haboobs), delayed flu seasons, COVID variants, and newborn colds. Gun violence, senate hearings, and preposterous ideas, solutions, and people. I’ve never been one to have my dreams shrink as I get older, but of course there is a big feeling of “What now?” What could possibly go wrong next?

What could possibly go right next?

I have never felt so close to the collective grief, as I do right now, in my own grief. Of time and opportunity; innocence and youth. For the first year or so of Rider’s life, as we got vaccinated, the sun came out again, and people got to touch his delicious feet and thighs in public again, he laughed and grew and crawled and sang. So did I. I thought I was in the grips of a miracle, to have a later in life HEALTHY baby. So strong and sturdy and almost trustworthy in his health and wellness. That’s why I cannot understand why it isn’t happening again, with an also charming and strong and sturdy baby. It has been breaking me. Why? Why now? Or rather, why not now?

These are days you'll remember, Never before and never since, I promise, Will the whole world be warm as this, And as you feel it

And like everything, it turns. It will turn. It’s the way I pick him up and he lays his head on my shoulder, just so. We become a puzzle piece, no longer unpuzzled. And no longer puzzled. The crashing waves of time and treachery. The crashing waves of my own overwhelming, drowning hearts and thoughts. Right now, we sway, unpuzzled and puzzled. Like one slow and delicious dance, he sleeps in the crook of my neck. Breath, rhythm, beat. Right now, that’s all he knows.

And he will always know it.

These are days you'll remember, Never before and never since, I promise, Will the whole world be warm as this, And as you feel it

“These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break
These days you might feel a shaft of light
Make its way across your face
And when you do you’ll know how it was meant to be
See the signs and know their meaning
It’s true
You’ll know how it was meant to be
Hear the signs and know they’re speaking to you, to you”

Similar Posts

5 Comments

  1. I’ve had a darkness too. Always worried about my brother. So, I try to do something every day to help him. I chisel away at that grey cloud, and so
    slowly the light comes in.

  2. You certainly do have a light that shines bright. The darkness is not so obviously seen. That’s why your writing about it is so important. The acceptance and knowing it’s there is part of finding that light again. Love Natalie Merchant’s voice and I haven’t heard this song in so long. Reminds me of when my kids were babies. A lovely post today, Tamara. Take time for YOU. Take that long bath and hammock nap. Cassidy will cover for you. HUGS.

  3. Honestly, your kids are the CUTEST! I love those baby smiles. 🙂 I always think how wonderful it will be for all of you that you have captured so many memories on this blog!

  4. Keeping you in my thoughts! You’re so productive and such a loving mom, despite your darkness. Brave and articulate, too. I can never put my struggles into words, even if I were brave enough to. Beautiful photos, as always.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.