Alas, but the wee mousekin has died. A small boy is learning that terrible and beautiful lesson that we all must learn throughout our lives, again and again and again: that when you open your heart to great love, you open your heart to great grief. But oh, his heart broke so. And so did ours, as we tried to be present, to help him be present, to witness that small death. And of course, he is fine, and chattering on about the hamster that a wee mouse made space for in our idea for our life.
Amid all the sadness of that loss, and the excitement of making a new small friend, I hope he will never forget that day of tender care for one of the tiniest creatures. I hope he will always remember how, when he would put his long slender fingers into the bin where it lived, the big eyes would turn eagerly toward him, and wee Shiver would scurry eagerly onto his hand and burrow her tiny face into his palm.
1. For the big-hearted boy, for the chance–no matter how painful–to learn of grief early and gently, to name the feeling and mark it in his heart. For his readiness to open his heart again.
2. For the man who sat with the boy and wept with him silently, not asking him to process or discuss–only to witness and experience his emotions.
3. For being recognized in the lists of poets from the Poem-A-Day challenge last April. It’s not like winning a contest, really, but just having some of my poems noticed amidst the many that were posted feels kind of good inside. I feel like I’ve joined a community of poets.
4. Change. Just enough. Not too much. Not too little. In that place between too quiet a routine and too unbalanced a life.
5. Camp. I know I put this one up here just a few days ago, but that was gratitude for how well camp went for my boys. Today I put it on the list for how it gives me a little breathing space in the clamor of summer demands. Quiet.
May we walk in Beauty!