It occurred to me while I was in the shower.
ten thousand tears
invisible walls cry out
desperate to be heard
a crimson tee shirt hangs over the side of the tub, and through glass illusion
i hear the song.
My baby is almost 15.
When my baby is exactly 15, we'll be 5,000 miles apart.
And while I've been assured and re-assured that he's just fine about the distance, I feel every mile between me and him.
In the shower that night I started writing for him, ache and beauty to make up for my absence, a blog post to celebrate his life and my affections, a mental composition that would make grown men weep and slay the heart of women, even those steely and fortressed and usually invincible from verbal machination.
(Never do I write more brilliantly than in the shower, except maybe during those sleepless nights when tossing and turning spins genius and imagination.
Until I towel dry or wake up the next day.)
And then I thought of The Hunger Games.
The way Tributes are tarted up and trotted out and consumed by insatiable monster, and how we in America celebrate and emulate celebrity. I wondered just how many degrees separate us from Panem?
And then I thought about blogging.
Bloggers are word exhibitionists, aren't we? We tell our stories and the people in our lives are pieces in our game, and isn't it lovely to write beautiful tribute posts that tell the world wide web how great and wonderful the people in our lives are?
Except this time I couldn't do it. I can't do it.
After a very long time (it seems) of writing online, something's shifting inside me. And I'll be honest, I'm not quite sure what to do with it or what it means. Maybe it doesn't mean anything; it definitely doesn't mean everything. But I'm sure in this case it means something–
Sometimes it's best to whisper sweet somethings into my lovies' ears, only their ears.
My baby will be 15 soon and there are some things I need to tell him.
I write my best posts in the shower. Unfortunately the words dry up as quickly as the water on my skin.
I know what you mean about the shifting. It may be because we have older kids who don’t really want their stories told . . . or their mom’s. It may be because we see that there is so much more out there than this. I don’t know, but I do completely understand this post. Whisper those sweet nothings; don’t shout them. They belong to him, not to us.
Love you, Robin!
Have I ever told you you're my hero?? 🙂 (Thank you, always, for helping me not feel crazy about what I write. It means a LOT to me!). xo
Oh my…I was just trying to have a conversation with my 13 year old Hunger Games fanatic daughter about the possibility that the world is not all that different from the world in the Hunger Games. Ok, so I admit she has turned me into a fanatic too. My thought was that perhaps people from poorer or third world countries look at more westernized countries (with our I-anything obsessions, plastic surgery galore, our constant complaints even though we are richer than 90% of the world’s population) the way the districts view The Capitol. She thought maybe I was reading into it a bit too much. She turns 14 next week, so I understand your pain. I found you through (in)courage. Looking forward to reading more..
“We tell our stories and the people in our lives are pieces in our game, and isn’t it lovely to write beautiful tribute posts that tell the world wide web how great and wonderful the people in our lives are?”
Okay, that’s a little too true and a little too uncomfortable. And that’s good.
Praying you’ll have wisdom to know how to honor the vision He gives for your online writing. And I pray your beloved almost-fifteen-year-old will hear your heart well.
Love to you, friend.
Welcome! So glad you had reason to visit :). I haven’t heard Suzanne Collins’ thoughts on current-day America compared to Panem, but I’m sure she had our insatiable appetite for train wrecks in mind. It’s easy to read THG series on an entertainment level, but as you get deeper there are wonderfully deep themes to mine. No wonder grown ups loved the series, too!
Re-reading my post today I’m shaking my head saying “WHO WROTE THAT?” MERCY–head games can creep in and find their way out through my fingers. I was aware I could be stepping on toes as I wrote, but that wasn’t my intent at all; my struggle is mine alone and I make no judgments for others’ choices.
I’ve always been drawn to you because you’re a contemplative thinker; it makes me happy to know you’re pushed a bit to consider my meager thoughts. And most of all I’m thankful for your prayer; it’s perfect…and I’m grateful for you.
A mother’s heart is universal in many ways, Robin. You struck a chord in mine! I’m shifting dramatically this year, facing my firstborn’s graduation in May. Every day I see “LASTS” and struggle to lift it to the Lord in worship. In 5 1/2 months he will leap from the nest, spreading his wings, severing the tether, taking a piece of my heart with him. Thank you for your heart’s reflection. You will bless your son through the miles; you already have!