87 Marbles
My daughter called me in tears tonight while I was at work. She could hardly string together the story of what had her so upset but when I moved to a quieter phone, I got the gist of it. Her father had written a piano song for the daughter of the woman he’s dating (from Marble 140). My daughter felt displaced and betrayed and to add insult to injury, her Dad didn’t understand why it was bothering her.
I took a deep breath for this one. All I could see was Ex-man with a fishing rod, reeling in his new catch – a mother and daughter combo. But I put the image aside and did my best to console my daughter. I listened to how she was feeling and I told her that I completely understood. I also reassured her that her Dad loved her very much and that no one was going to replace her in his heart, no matter how it might feel right now. His heart was big enough for many people (although none of the fairy tales of step-families would affirm this notion). I’m sure my daughter fast-forwarded to visions of her cleaning cinders out of the fireplace or of her and her brother being left in the middle of a deep wood. I told her that I loved her very much and her brothers also loved her. She would not be replaced. She calmed down and we took some deep breaths together over the phone.
I’m not sure if change ever gets easier -if those highly evolved souls just learn to take it all in stride. I’ve heard the expression, “Circumstances don’t matter only state of being matters” but try telling that to my daughter who is feeling like her whole life is being threatened by a too adorable toddler.
In Margaret Atwood’s Penelopiad there’s a preface that goes:
Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.
I want to tell my daughter to go with the flow, to not resist change but I know how difficult it can be. And as much as I love the sentiment of Atwood’s hydrophor, I can’t help but think of the walls of water that indeed stop people – the tsunamis, the hurricanes.
Later at home in my cold house, I warm up my fleece pajamas in the dryer to a toasty warm. As I lay in bed, I hope that this whole process becomes easier. Easier on my family. Easier on me.
What would it take to be more like water? What would it take to not resist change?
My daughter called me in tears tonight while I was at work. She could hardly string together the story of what had her so upset but when I moved to a quieter phone, I got the gist of it. Her father had written a piano song for the daughter of the woman he’s dating (from Marble 140). My daughter felt displaced and betrayed and to add insult to injury, her Dad didn’t understand why it was bothering her.
I took a deep breath for this one. All I could see was Ex-man with a fishing rod, reeling in his new catch – a mother and daughter combo. But I put the image aside and did my best to console my daughter. I listened to how she was feeling and I told her that I completely understood. I also reassured her that her Dad loved her very much and that no one was going to replace her in his heart, no matter how it might feel right now. His heart was big enough for many people (although none of the fairy tales of step-families would affirm this notion). I’m sure my daughter fast-forwarded to visions of her cleaning cinders out of the fireplace or of her and her brother being left in the middle of a deep wood. I told her that I loved her very much and her brothers also loved her. She would not be replaced. She calmed down and we took some deep breaths together over the phone.
I’m not sure if change ever gets easier -if those highly evolved souls just learn to take it all in stride. I’ve heard the expression, “Circumstances don’t matter only state of being matters” but try telling that to my daughter who is feeling like her whole life is being threatened by a too adorable toddler.
In Margaret Atwood’s Penelopiad there’s a preface that goes:
Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.
I want to tell my daughter to go with the flow, to not resist change but I know how difficult it can be. And as much as I love the sentiment of Atwood’s hydrophor, I can’t help but think of the walls of water that indeed stop people – the tsunamis, the hurricanes.
Later at home in my cold house, I warm up my fleece pajamas in the dryer to a toasty warm. As I lay in bed, I hope that this whole process becomes easier. Easier on my family. Easier on me.
What would it take to be more like water? What would it take to not resist change?
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