love and luck
About a year ago I walked down the basement stairs in my parents' house and watched my mom have a stroke, and everything I understood about the world, and my place in it, changed.
Memory, for me, is completist. This is why I make a poor storyteller: I can't leave things out. I tell lists (long ones), not stories. So I could tell you about the seventeen minutes we waited for the ambulance, name the nurses in the ER, trace the shape of the monitors listing emergency surgery patients in the air. And that would be the beginning, in facts, of the change.
I have always felt lucky. Even in France, where everything that could go wrong did, I was surprised to hear my colleagues describe me as 'unlucky.' I had a beautiful childhood, full of books, stories, music, possibility, adventure, imagination, and love. High school and college taught me so much about what education meant to me. And the thought of how much I learned in my Master's and in the year I spent in France is humbling--the luck, there is no other word, of it.
Actually, if I'm being truthful, things began to change for me when I was in France, an outsider. Foreign, alone. There is nothing like it for developing a sense of compassion, empathy, and humility.
And then to come home--and when my family most needed it there were meals left on the porch (months' worth), and cards, and letters, and the support of people we didn't even know (bloggy people who contributed to the auction, generous strangers who made bids). I didn't know how much we were loved.
Sometimes the only response was to cry, but I'm not so good at that. I'm better at working, going out and fixing something or getting the laundry in, or heating something up. Making cake as declaration of love. I learned this from watching all these strangers love my family.
I arrived in England on a clear day in September with three suitcases and a memorized recipe for plain cake. And within two weeks I was making cake almost every day. Oh, girls from Flat 6, oh, economists, oh Matt and fellow theorists: I was so lucky to be found by you.
Every day since June 4th of last year I have been aware that I can choose to be open and to love (or to be closed and bitter). And more and more I find I'm able to choose to love and to be kind, be really with the people I love. I have made this luck and they have made it for me, with me.
This feeling of being beloved. This luck.
Memory, for me, is completist. This is why I make a poor storyteller: I can't leave things out. I tell lists (long ones), not stories. So I could tell you about the seventeen minutes we waited for the ambulance, name the nurses in the ER, trace the shape of the monitors listing emergency surgery patients in the air. And that would be the beginning, in facts, of the change.
I have always felt lucky. Even in France, where everything that could go wrong did, I was surprised to hear my colleagues describe me as 'unlucky.' I had a beautiful childhood, full of books, stories, music, possibility, adventure, imagination, and love. High school and college taught me so much about what education meant to me. And the thought of how much I learned in my Master's and in the year I spent in France is humbling--the luck, there is no other word, of it.
Actually, if I'm being truthful, things began to change for me when I was in France, an outsider. Foreign, alone. There is nothing like it for developing a sense of compassion, empathy, and humility.
And then to come home--and when my family most needed it there were meals left on the porch (months' worth), and cards, and letters, and the support of people we didn't even know (bloggy people who contributed to the auction, generous strangers who made bids). I didn't know how much we were loved.
Sometimes the only response was to cry, but I'm not so good at that. I'm better at working, going out and fixing something or getting the laundry in, or heating something up. Making cake as declaration of love. I learned this from watching all these strangers love my family.
I arrived in England on a clear day in September with three suitcases and a memorized recipe for plain cake. And within two weeks I was making cake almost every day. Oh, girls from Flat 6, oh, economists, oh Matt and fellow theorists: I was so lucky to be found by you.
Every day since June 4th of last year I have been aware that I can choose to be open and to love (or to be closed and bitter). And more and more I find I'm able to choose to love and to be kind, be really with the people I love. I have made this luck and they have made it for me, with me.
This feeling of being beloved. This luck.
posted by Eireann at
10:53 PM
10 Comments:
isn't it a gorgeous feeling to be able to open yourself up and hand bits of it to other people, without being afraid? or even being afraid sometimes, but trusting that they will keep what you've given them? i'm not sure there's anything more wonderful.
This makes me want to hop on over the pond and give you a big hug. Yes, you are much loved, Eireann. And I absolutely adore that attitude when looking at your life.
I've lurked for a long time, reading your story. I found great courage in your journey at a time when most would want to stay close to home. Its great to be reminded that we chose our path.
hugs to you eireann. you are a very strong and incredible person....
xo
Love and luck...just beautiful. Thanks for sharing, Eireann.
beautiful, sniff. you can write, my friend.
yes. i would write more, but you've said it all. thank you for being here.
yes -thank you for your beautiful words.
xo
The luck and the love are everywhere. Speaking to lydia tonight and hearing her talk about her terrible cancer (recently discovered and deadly) and how she has been learning how to love the moment and how she doesn't want to have to "get sick", and is dreading that. And getting strength from the moment, and feeling lucky about having such good kids to love her. It is good to hear her.
Reading your piece about story telling reminds me how MOr Grandpa would always ask you to tell him a story, and you would just look at him as if to say, "you don't have time for all I know..." It was funny. love
This is beautiful. You string words together amazingly. I wish everyone believed in feeling as much as you seem to espouse in your writing.
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