Saturday, February 21, 2009

I See the Moon

So I have this guilty secret.  I tried not to think about it.  I didn't mention it to anyone.  Never planned to act on it.  Until this weekend.  

This weekend, everything began to fall into place.  Without even trying, the temptation I had been avoiding, this little voice I had been ignoring, seemed about to present itself.  And I gave in.

My secret wish that nearly came true?  

To be left alone.

Just.  Me.

Two. Whole. Days.

Alone.

I charted my course.  Plotted and planned.  Made lists and goals and schedules and timelines . . . 
First books, then art, then projects, then blog.
No . . . Art after coffee, projects when I'm sleepy, books and blogs all night. . . . 

I envisioned silence . . .
seamless hours to work;
time to pray and sort-out the fragments of thoughts that have had nowhere to go;
an ambitious stack of books from the library;
a generous stash of coffee.
I cleaned the house so I wouldn't be tempted;
told no one so not to be distracted;
tried not to appear too eager as I began to pack up two little girls and their dad for the weekend.

But then . . .
One a.m. she's coughing.
Two a.m. I'm driving under an icy sliver moon.
Three a.m. doctor's listening, nurses measuring fever and pulse. 
Four a.m. I'm rocking her to sleep with the radio, 
listening to quiet steps in the dark hall and the slow hum of machines, 
her hair matted and curly all over.
Pink lips, pink cheeks, frightening blue circles under sleeping eyes.
She's gonna be fine . . .
And I'm singing to her about the moon,
and thinking about my evaporated projects and plans interrupted
the painting that I may never finish
the stack of books
and the wee baby moon all alone in the sky . . . 
aware of how satisfied I am
this moment,
holding moon-shaped baby girl
under pulsing red monitor
and soft hospital lamp . . .
small below glowing Emergency Room Sign
on dark silent hill
under frozen stars
and 
lonely baby moon . . .
I never really liked that particular moon song, 
the moon all alone who didn't care.
I'd rather sing about the moon who sees me, 
and the somebody I'd like to see.
The smiling moon 
and God bless the moon, and me, and the somebody
the moon looking down, 
connecting us all together
making sure we are not alone.

(Annie was kept for observation and released the next morning.  Thankfully, it was only a severe but treatable and (we hope) quickly passing case of croup).

3 comments:

Heather of the EO said...

Oh how scary.

And what a beautiful thing you've turned it into here. From the beautiful love for your baby in your heart.

charrette said...

This is so the story of a mother's life. Mislaid plans...replaced with something better, through sacrifice. You described it all so beautifully. I love the way you write your heartstrings.

pleiades said...

sorry you didn't get your time alone, but i'm glad to hear that she is going to be fine. croup is the scariest. we ended up in the same scenario as you with quinn twice. it's so scary.