The Suburbs of God

Blog for July 30, 2008

Ah the Stone Cottage idyll did not last. I was able to spend two evenings there last week while my brothers were at the house, but then I moved back in with Dad.

The last few weeks have been draining. Some family dynamics knocked me to my knees. I woke up yesterday morning so depressed I could not get out of bed. I had no strength, and I ached all over.

I called my sister, and made some gurgling sounds on the phone. She immediately swung into action. “You are stronger than this!” she scolded. “Besides, don’t you believe in God? Where is God right now?”

I had to admit that the presence of God was very likely in the neighborhood somewhere…

“That’s right”, she said. “Now get to the basics. Light and air. Go get some sun on your face and breathe deeply”.

So this Child of God pulled on some shorts and opened the curtains, and went out to start the day.

Immediately, the day improved. I met a close friend unexpectedly in front of the Post Office. He had traveled this same path with both his parents and he offered encouragement for the road ahead. A letter with photos from a close friend in Alaska waited for me in the post office box. My sister came down from the Inn and offered to watch Dad so I could go to the beach in the afternoon.

I swam in the cold salt water and slept in the sand like a turtle below the white clay cliffs. Over my head ospreys soared looking for fish in the waves. Hours of sleep and the sound of the surf restored my soul.

There are hours in the broken house that try my temper. There is so much that falls apart in my hands, and I am tired of trying to cobble together solutions. It is hot and muggy here and most days the sweat beads up on my face and back. Having my family together was an amazing experience, but exhausting. All four of us kids have not spent this much time together since childhood. Our paths and our styles are very different. Still, a core similarity sometimes makes me gasp with recognition, not always with joy. At least this time we were able to see those shared traits, such as they are, and recognize our common history. It helped us reach across the gaps. We were able to agree that what matters most is keeping Dad as healthy and happy as possible.

Now Dad and I are alone again. I think he misses the general hubbub and noise of his family. He loved having everyone here.

I am getting him up for adventures every morning. We have our coffee on different beaches each day. Today we went up to Menemsha, the fishing village at the other end of the island. We met a Frenchman who started speaking French with Dad, and suddenly they were discussing their African Adventures, taking trains to Timbuktu, talking about Mali and Niger… It cheered Dad up immensely.

I am grateful for these days when he still says “Why not?” whenever I mention an adventure. I cherish the time we spend together, and the whimsical way he is talking since the stroke. He sees the sunset and says, “Look! Moon blood!” He calls muffins “corn meadows”. He is grateful and cheerful, so how can I be otherwise?

When this time is over, no amount of calling will ever bring it back. I try to remember that as I move through these weeks.

In the words of Hafiz, the Persian poet of the 13^th century: “Complaint is only possible when living in the suburbs of God”.

I picture myself taking up residence from time to time in a tract house of ingratitude. My sister was right. Get up, breathe deep, search out the Light. It is all around us.