What a Difference a Year Makes!
When I was in pre-school I fell in love for the first time. Her name was Laurie and she wore her long brown hair in pigtails, dresses with colorful tights and black velvet shoes. Laurie suffered from an extreme case of separation anxiety. She demanded a lot of attention from Mrs. Benjamin, our classroom teacher, as she cried and pleaded for her mommy for hours at a time. Mrs. Benjamin paced back and forth across the classroom with a sobbing Laurie in her arms while I watched from a distance, secretly fearing the inevitable moment when Laurie’s mother would arrive to take her home. When that moment finally arrived my heart was broken and my faith was shattered. In my four year old brain, nothing could be worse than Laurie’s departure.
Several weeks passed following Laurie’s pre-school dropout before my mother finally broke down and called the school. Apparently I refused to stop asking for the child and my mother decided it was time to take action. I still recall the day when my mother stood in our red and white kitchen and called Laurie’s mother to suggest a play date. It does not surprise me at all that I selected the least available child in my class to pursue as a friend. When it comes to love and relationships and desire, I have never been one to choose the easiest path.
In the heart and mind of a very young child, a mother’s love can border on the divine. In the early autumn of my fourth year of life I created a vision that was elusive at best and I lost my perspective in the haze of fixation. When I look back now through the eyes of a woman, I wonder if the magnitude of my mother’s love was more of a blessing or a curse. There are certain times in life when there is nothing left to do except let go and surrender to truth and pain.
At my graduation from pre-school each child was presented with a paper cutout of a specific type of animal or insect. The teacher pinned the paper cutouts to the front of each our shirts with a brief explanation printed beneath it. Mine was a butterfly and the words beneath it stated; Risa has emerged from her tiny cocoon this year and blossomed into a social butterfly. In the many years that have followed since I have ebbed and flowed with the seasons of life; at times spreading my wings to fly and at other times crawling back inside my cocoon. Perhaps this is true for all of us as we cycle through the many phases of life and death and re-birth and spiritual transformation.
When my ex husband vacated our home and our marriage I longed for nothing more than the quiet of solitude. I folded my wings and returned to my cocoon and allowed the harsh waves of grief to fully overtake me. A full year elapsed before I finally found the strength to pack and remove the miscellaneous odds and ends and personal belongings that he left behind. This seemingly small and insignificant task was the one that released me and allowed me to fly.
Earlier this evening I stepped outside to view a beautiful crescent moon pairing spectacularly with a bright planet Venus. I was reminded of an equally amazing night sky from over a year ago when a crimson harvest moon hung low over the Wando River, bathing the marsh in its fiery glow. I could not help but think about the enormous difference a full year and so many lunar cycles can make.
Nearly 40 years ago a little girl with a paper butterfly glanced up at her teacher and smiled with pride. Last year beneath a crimson harvest moon I doubted myself and my ability to love. This year beneath a glowing planet Venus I am remembering the little girl who still lives inside of me as I spread my wings and prepare to fly.
