When the Night Lies So Still

Don’t get me wrong – there are PARTS of myself that I want my kids to have, and they seem to have it already. A steadfast and undying belief in magic, and good, and in themselves. A love for rainbow sprinkles, which, maybe Des got more than Scarlet. The big love of adventure and open roads, and giddiness for the little things. Some of those are traits I share with Cassidy, and some are not. We have different sets of strengths and weaknesses, and you can see the little places in which they meet in the middle. So I’d like to believe we see it a million times over in these three little ones we have created, and are raising. Tiny sparkles of fairy dust and glitter. The differences are ok, too, as long as we don’t share the harder things. Cassidy is grumpier in the morning than I am. We both have quick tempers, but mine is more explosive at outside forces that can’t hear me, like people in other cars. He’s more dismissive when hurt or angry or even scared. There are things he can deal with that I cannot deal with. Like being wonderful with kid fears and anxiety.

I always thought, bigger kids means bigger problems, but it’s so much more than that. It’s the individual kid, and the individual sensitivities and ailments and experiences, and also coupled with the individual sensitivities and ailments and experiences of the parents, or caregivers, or friends, teachers, partners, etc. It’s much more complicated than I ever realized, and also, much more simple. They show their needs in different ways at different times. With Rider, it’s obvious and easily wrapped up. He can rage on and shout, and be easily comforted with a cuddle or a bottle. It’s different with Scarlet and Des, but it’s not drastic, not yet. And I don’t know in which ways they will need me, and which ways I will be called out of my comfort zone. I know that I want to leave my zone, and be the person they need be to me, even if that just means I’m there.

Time rolls on, in its oddities, and the world only seems to get stranger, even when you think it can’t possibly be stranger. And I wonder, always, about raising kids in this kind of world, the way I wonder about bringing kids into this world. Surely, countless other generations wondered the same things, because the world rages with meteors and disasters; wars and famine and hate. And just as surely, it marches on with resolutions and intelligence and love; so much ambition and drive and thought. I recently read a Humans of New York post about a luminous comic artist/children’s book author, and mother of a child with a rare genetic disorder, who wrote about her magical thinking. When asked why to bring a child into this world, with climate change and more, her answer would always be that she’d choose to be born, and choose to watch the end of the world with family. Even for a few minutes longer, holding her family tight.

When you’re in it, you’re in it. And nothing really comes between it, or threatens to break it apart. They tell me in little ways. Scarlet reaches for me, more these days, with tiny hugs or cuddling against me on the couch. Des likes to talk, talk, talk his fears out. And sometimes I’m oblivious and dumb, and immersed in my work or my headache or my irritation. Other times, I’m struck by the lightning of this deep love, and I give him my full attention, and realize how far it goes to ease his fears and anxiety. It’s a darn strange time, and the little bits help. What these kids have been through, and will go through, is too earth-shattering to wrap your mind around, so you give love in little hand squeezes, back scratches, and the extra bits of attention and care.

Last year, Des had some sort of panic or anxiety attack, or some internal seismic event, while we were watching a movie. He was shivering and couldn’t stop. I was bewildered, with my own history of anxiety attacks, but Scarlet and Cassidy were quick to not be freaked out, as their concern won over any internal conflicts, about anxiety, inheritance, and the contagion qualities of fears. Still, I snapped into place. I’ll always snap into place – it’s just that I’m quicker about it if I’m the only helper. When others are nearby, sometimes I just assume they’re stronger than me. They’re not, though. I learned that then, and I learn it now. As Des lay shivering, we covered him with a blanket. The three of us, each with our own understandings and gifts, surrounded him until he stilled. And it made me realize that, always, and together, we just might be all right.

I went through my whole birthing playlist! I’m starting a new one, based on themes/feelings of the week, or what the Radio Gods are telling me. “Fields of Gray” is #5 on my new playlist.