Monday, October 18, 2010

Machinery of life

If the situation can cause any more anguish for her, I just learned that Susanne still can't hold her son.  Can't hold him.  My soul shattered reading that.  He continues to struggle for life.

When I was with my mom before she died, I remembered having the most overwhelming need to touch her.  Like I did with my babies when they were first born.  Touching hair, arms.  I've always felt that's how our souls touch each other.  Feeling the human warmth next to our skin. 

After she died and her spirit left her, her body was so cold.  I could feel that she was gone.  Where did she go?  What part of her left?  Her body was there, but it was so apparent *she* was gone.

When I look at Jack, it seems so surreal how his body's machine betrays who he really is.  He's still the same Jack.  Spent several hours drawing, offered to get Simone her lunch from the fridge, asking his typical line of questions.  But there's this bruised and battered mask covering him.  He looks nothing like himself.

Baby Ryan's brain is still showing trauma.  He's breathing, but not waking up.  I can imagine Susanne wanting to just reach in and pull him out - pull out who she knows he is.  The smiling, sweet little boy. 

It makes you wonder where the soul really is. What part of our body, our brain, are who we are.  His machinery is broken right now, his brain is betraying him.  His soul is still present, but where?

I have been stalking my children all day...holding them, hugging them, pressing my nose into their hair as I feel overwhelmed with gratitude that they are safe and whole and here.

I keep wondering how I'm ever bothered by the noise, the mess, the peripheral truths of child-raising.  Life is chaotic and cluttered sometimes.  Most times. But for right now, I am grateful...that my children are making chaos and clutter and noise.