The Art of Losing

One of my favorite poems is Elizabeth Bishop's "One Art". (Read it here).

It is about the nature of losses great and small, and how it isn't hard to master the art of losing things...except, of course, that is terribly difficult to lose something that is worth having.

It isn't a happy piece of poetry, but it's real and so beautiful, and my memory of hearing it for the first time is a good one. It was a beautiful spring day in Chapel Hill and I was a sophomore sitting at a much-scribbled upon desk in Greenlaw Hall. I still remember my throat closing up and suddenly viewing the room through a watery veil of unshed tears and thinking that life didn't get much better than being able to spend an hour talking about poetry and the universality of loss with a collection of bright minds. I could practically feel the fibers of my mind stretching and encompassing more knowledge and it was a marvelous thing.

(This isn't a sad post, by the way. There is no new and profound loss knocking at the Ewalds' door tonight.)

I find myself feeling wistful because I missed a call from my friend Mary Katherine, and I was suddenly struck to the soul with a longing for her crazy wild curls and emphatic gestures and spilled drinks. And that made me miss long nights draped over couches and sprawled on rugs and drinking in...and with... the APA/B girls...Lauren's contagious laugh and Statesville T shirts, Chloe's wit and beautiful smile, Cameron's enunciation and perceptiveness, Ashley's gentleness and ever-present bowl of vegetables, Kristin's light-up-the-room shiny spirit and constantly-in-motion earrings, and Leslie's whole-hearted,huge-eyed, single minded focus on whoever would be talking.

You see, an enormous part of what made college amazing was found in that collection of girls. I loved my classes and darn near everything else about my university, but the really wonderful part was having a new family of the heart to share the whole process with me.

We live all over the place now, in different states and countries, and we keep in touch the way that old friends do...sporadically, but deeply. And I love that I know the big things...Kristin buying a house (!), Chloe being smitten (!), Mary Katherine moving again (!) the incredible angelic beauty of Ashley's little boy, the antics of Leslie's houseful of gorgeous children, and so on for several different lives of "big things". I love those things. And they know all of my "big" things too.

But I sometimes miss sharing the small and daily with these women.

Like the many faces of my son and how easy it is to coax a beautifully be-dimpled smile from him these days.








































And the reckless abandon of our "how can she be this big already" daughter. Sister savors life. And runs pretty much constantly.














What Bishop doesn't tell us in her poem is that the real art of losing is learning to accept loss gracefully. Without loss, there is no room for a season of new growth in our lives. And while I yearn for the girls in the chairs, I also can't imagine raising my children without the community of women here in Rochester. And I know that soon enough I'll have to miss them too...but in the meantime, I just love being with them and raising our kids together. It's a time as profound and precious as those college years...even if the only poetry we discuss is more along the lines of "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" and it's strangely mesmerizing power over crying babies.















And each of the women I've mentioned has the happy gift of making friends easily. And I love those women for carrying on the good work of loving my girls. The Jenn Dukes and Karla Gonzalezes of the world make me smile. I could add many more names but it would take a really long time. And it'd be kind of like reading Numbers in the Bible...long lists of names are really mind numbing. So I won't do that.

But I will say that I've dealt with my momentary sadness in the best way possible...by turning instead to a celebration of the kind of love that lives with open hands. And while I may not be able to tumble into my bed after giving out seven big hugs to my friends, I can go and look at my sleeping babies and marvel at their long eyelashes and dimpled fists and sweet cheeks. It's small, it's ordinary, and it's totally and completely precious to me. And I know that my friends would feel the exact same way. Because that's why we're friends...our hearts match in all the important ways.

Someone should write a poem about that...

Brother and Sister

Everyone always says that the hardest transition when adding a child to your family is going from one child to two children. We've been testing the truth of that statement and throwing in a few twists to really keep it interesting. Because that's just how we roll around here.


Getting ready to meet her brother for the first time


In some ways, having two little ones is no big deal. I feel so much more capable than I did when I brought Addie home. I remember walking in the door with her in her car seat and being completely at a loss as to what to do next. I wasn't sure how to begin to live again. That didn't happen with Graydon. In fact, I couldn't wait to get home and start finding our new normal.

Props to my mom for putting Addie in the world's cutest big sister outfit



Addie felt differently. Of course she did. She went from being our one and only precious and beloved child to sharing our attention and our time and our hearts. We experienced the inevitable sleep disturbances and tantrums and there were times when her pain and confusion was so evident that I felt like the world's worst person. I questioned our decision to add another child to our family, the spacing between them, and our parenting skills. I felt guilty, truly. We were happy and then we just HAD to rock the boat.

She climbed right up onto the bed to check things out. I was so surprised that she was so brave!

During the rocky times I kept clinging to the truth in the face of my doubts. The truth is, we chose to have Graydon partly for Addie. Of course I wanted to experience another pregnancy and another infancy. Of course we wanted to see what another iteration of our genes would produce. But another facet of the truth is that Addie needs Graydon.

You can see that she is curious here and a little hesitant about her Dad loving this little bundle.



This is the moment she became a big sister. She reaches out and accepts him.

A lifelong bond begins

My parents were fantastic gift givers. From the coveted material stuff (She-Ra's castle! the pony! the silver Audi!) to the life shaping tastes and habits (Tar Heel fandom! A love for reading! Bruce! Cooking soup while listening to classical music and burning a pleasant smelling candle!) to the merely pleasing (the perfect shade of sweater! the toastiest, coziest slippers!), they seemed to always know the right thing to fill in the gaps in my needs and wants.


But the best thing they ever gave me (and themselves, most likely) were my two sisters and my brother. Even if I did cry when they told me they were having Dillon. Hey, I was 13. I could see the writing on the wall and it said BABYSITTING in bright red. And even if I did ignore Desi's existence entirely and very pointedly for quite some time. I was five, ok? And even if I did look the other way when Des tried to smother Jordan. I was only 7 and I didn't understand the whole "aiding and abetting" portion of criminal actions. The point is that I know how confusing and unsettling it is to add a new member to our family.



And I also know that it's ultimately a priceless and matchless bond. Our sisters and brothers are truly are our only "womb to tomb" companions, give or take the few years determined by your birth order. They witness the whole darn thing and live it with you. They are among the very few that will both hold you as a baby and hold your own children in their arms. They will help you get dressed for your wedding and cry when you walk down the aisle. They'll help you lay flowers on your loved ones' coffins. They'll know all your stories and inside jokes and repeat them with you countless times and still find them funny.



For every moment of angst in this adjustment period, I just remember that one day she will thank me for the gift of this precious little guy. And believe me, there are moments of angst!

Two faces to love!

The wild and the innocent