when to hold on
You have to give birth, right? There is a time limit, the baby is ready and there is a window when it is safe for the mother and baby to hold on and then, sometimes with no warning at all, it is no longer safe to hold on and the baby must be born in to the world. At the birth of my first child I was induced into labor because the statute of limitations on overdueness had long been reached. Bugger, I remember thinking. I really liked being pregnant. I really liked my baby right where it was. Mostly in my imagination. We were cosy, comfortable and we got along really well. On the assigned day we arrived on time to the hospital. I changed into the hospital gown and received my medicine - shouldn’t take long I thought. We waited and waited. I use the word waited as a catchall phrase for nearly 30 hours of painful resistance. I just couldn’t push this baby out, I mean I tried, I’d come around to the idea of us meeting in person. Nearly 30 hours in, a masked doctor barged in, bumped the midwife aside and told me if I didn’t push this baby out in the next 30 mins I was off to surgery where they would finish the job for me. Right. Great. Got it. Baby was born. Baby came out smiling. Everyone was happy, especially me.
It is a practice in our family to retell the birth story of our children on their birthdays. Today is one of these days. As with any retelling, the story changes each year. When the children were very little we would turn their birth story into a longer tale, just like a story from one of their bedside books. Some years we’d go into all of the details and other years their birth was reduced down to a description of the something as simple as weather of the day. Snowy. Some years the stories fell on distracted ears or embarrassed ears, or ears that heard nothing but cringe but I wouldn’t let go. I would slot something of their birth story into the day hoping I was laying a path that would take a complete childhood to make. Only time could build this path. I like to think that this practice will serve them when life inevitably tosses them into darkness and they lose their way. If they know their origin story, if they can come at it from many different angles shouldn’t that help them trace their way back to lighter times, more solid ground? I do hope so.
I recall my first born’s birth story as I walk the road this morning. Lately I have been researching why the young beech trees hold on to their leaves in the winter. This process is called marscence. Scientists are not sure why this takes place but they suggest the young trees hold on to their leaves to protect the branches from browsing deer who do not like the taste of the dried leaves. The leaves also give shelter to birds during the coldest months of the year. When the beech are older the abscission process is fully developed and the tree is able to safely let go of their leaves. I can see myself in that young beech. As a young mother, holding firm to the ground with her tender young roots. Arms full of books and conversations, of classes, of music, of art, and walks in the woods. I held on to anything I might need to weather the maternal storms ahead. The stakes were high, not every tree grows to its full potential in the woods and not every mother has the chance to either. This I knew. This is the understory of their birth stories.
On I walk, my mittened hands over my face to protect it from the cold. It is early morning here but my daughter is already projected well into her birthday by living in a different timezone. The clouds are already clearing, to reveal a winter blue sky. Today the sun will shine and we will see shadow and light. The contrast will fill the woods with depth and my eyes will enjoy the complicated patterns made by trunks, branches and shadows. The apricot colored beech leaves will fade into the background but a soon as the light dulls I will see them again and admire how they hold on.
Happy Birthday, Marion.
