by Mary Jo Doig
In the early morning hours of my birth day, yesterday, I woke embraced in total darkness and thought of my mother exactly 74 years earlier. I knew her labor was quite prolonged and so I knew now, at 3am, she and I still had seven hours and 21 minutes ahead in the birthing task before us. As in that time nearly three-quarters of a century ago, I was surrounded by this same total darkness within her body. In addition, I would have been moist, too, enclosed in a water environment much like all my swims later in life in the ocean, the bay, and the sound off the shores of Long Island.
An unexpected fact rose into my thoughts: I’ve always been a rather fearful swimmer and in this moment of astonishing, fragile connection between two worlds seventy-four years apart, I question: was I fearful then? Of course, an instant response said silently, you must have felt terrified by being slowly pushed and squeezed forward into an unknown world ahead. Had some of that fear translated into the fearful child I had become? It could be so. Or not. The answer did not arrive; perhaps it was not even important.
My thoughts returned to the wonder of the moment, an experience unlike any I’d ever experienced. Gratitude to my mom for giving me life rose within and gently filled all the spaces of my heart. I thought of all her labor: my birth, and all the tasks that followed in raising her first child. I was not an easy child to raise; our relationship wasn’t always smooth although, eventually, we did work through many of our conflicts toward the end of her 89 years with us. Yet, when she died, although I’d worked before and in years after to remove it, sadly one relentlessly immovable brick remained in the inner wall I had carried through the years.
Nevertheless, in the still-dark and mystical early morning of my birth day, I knew that my 74th birthday had opened with a profound gift of grace. At the end of the day I knew that grace had filled each moment of the day.
Today, as I write about those mysterious moments, I find the gratitude that filled and softened my heart yesterday morning remains. Then it occurs to me to search for that final stubborn, persistent brick that weighed me down for decades. Today, though, I discover with joy that I cannot find it; it has disappeared forever, I hope.
I am intensely humbled and at peace with the gracious gifts I received yesterday. My favorite word, shalom, slides into my thoughts, filling them with each of the rich, diverse affirmations it gives: peace, harmony, wholeness, completeness, prosperity, and tranquility. I wish each of you, dear reader, an abundance of these same gifts.
Mary Jo Doig, a Story Circle Network member for fifteen years, is an avid reader, writer, quilter, knitter, gardener, cook, editor, and blogger. She lives in a small, eclectic town in Albemarle County, Virginia where she has an exquisite mountain view from her writing room window.