Cold in the earth — and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time’s all-severing wave?
Excerpt taken from Emily Bronte’s Remembrance
This time of year always seems to usher in a bit of wistful nostalgia. Not only does the calendar alert us that Christmas is nary upon us, we also happen to have a birthday in this house as my son is turning 25 later this week. As he was a scheduled Christmas baby, who decided to arrive a week early, this has always been his favorite time of year and holiday. Happily or sadly, I fear, I must confess that each and every year as the calendar rolls around to this particular week, I cannot help but feel as if a part of me is somewhat frozen in time as I, ever so sweetly, recall those years which now seem so long ago. . . when he was simply a little boy.
Once upon a time a trip to McDonalds and a Happy Meal was a magical event. Spending time watching his favorite cartoons, be it Spiderman, Batman or the Ninja Turtles, was some of the best time I recall spending during that delightful time of innocence oh so long ago—as he and I would sit together on the couch or floor mesmerized by the long serving super heroes of what seems to have been each or our childhoods (sans those turtles for my youth).
With his dad always working and our living in a different community from the one we worked in and attended school, and with his being an only child, there was a great deal of time, for better or worse, spent together. Today he may look back and think he was a lonely child or somewhat sheltered, I look back seeing the time as simply what our world was, and relish the memory of the close bound the 3 of us shared.
The crisis of a child, which at the time can seem monumental, was most always easily fixed by some extra attention, hugs, favorite meals or a trip for ice-cream. Sadly I must admit that those crises which occur today are not nearly as easily remedied or alleviated. What I thought broke my heart for him when he was 5, truly breaks my heart now in the shadow of 25. At this grown up age, in my parental frustrations, as well as sorrowful regret, no longer do I know how to readily fix things. Such is the burden, I fear, of mothers world wide. All of this as I am reminded of another mother, long ago, who eventually bore the weight of the world as she held her newborn son under the light of a single star.
And so it is with such thoughts, which rise to the surface from this mother’s constantly wounded heart, when gazing upon a frozen bird bath in the throws of a winter morning. Thankfully, however, I am sustained by the knowledge of the eventual thawing and giving way to , once again, free flowing streams of water–as the thaw gives way to free waters, so too does it give way to the hope of soothed hearts, mended dreams, and bright futures.
‘Stop your crying and wipe away your tears.
All that you have done for your children will not go unrewarded.
They will return from the enemy’s land.
There is hope for your future.
Your children will come back home.
I, the Lord, have spoken’.
Jeremiah 31: 16-17
Good News Bible