Susan's Thursday morning note June 6, 2013 A Mother's Song by Hester Suthers Poem to unborn child on life being worthy of being born.
Good morning! I was reading letters by Robert Lewis Stevenson this week and he stated to his mother that he believed there was another sense we don’t mention. The sense of memory. He was describing a scene he hopes will be in his memory in the future. For me a memory would be the silence of morning. The sweet stillness that can’t be described because it’s a “nothing” – all is still. A beautiful stillness. A strong memory of other still moments. Camp sites. Watching someone you love dearly sleep. Two cats silent and sleeping together across a room. An exhausted puppy asleep in the sun. Memories of stillness. This is a poem I love written by a mother to her unborn child. She wonders if the child would chose life if knowing what hurts and griefs come along with being alive. She then goes on to end the poem with the realization that life is beautiful. Being alive is worth what will hurt. I just loved this. One of those poems that stays in your mind after shutting the book. A new thought. A new memory to hold.
A Mother's Song by Hester Suthers My little unborn child, I carry you Without your yes or no to life and light. Would you consent, I wonder, to be born, If you could choose and know each grief, each plight We all endure who walk the mortal road? Would you consent to share the human load? I think you would; you are so close, so close These many months to one rejoicing heart You cannot help but feel how strong, how sweet A joy can be, and long to claim your part In such a heritage which life bestows To more than compensate for all the woes. I know you would; for I can promise you The wonder of the stars, the seas, the hills, The miracle of love and comradeship, The breathless sum of loveliness which fills Our world. O small, new soul that looks toward birth, I bring you to a good, a glorious earth.
The wonder of the first yellow rose yesterday morning. Watching my little one play on the bandstand yesterday where I vividly picture his grandpa playing his trumpet. The strong sense of memory and of life continuing. A place of joy. Then a location of painful memory. Replaced now with little curls and sticks. All on a 20×20 cement block. Memory. The wonder of running up and down and up and down and up and down a three foot ditch. Beautiful memory. The little bird that is now breaking the morning silence. Memories of birds breaking other silences. Always singing for us. Always telling us in every silent moment, even silent moments of pain, singing to us over and over the song of the poem – the little bird giving us the promise of the stars, the seas, the hills, love, friends, new little souls entering the scene. Today we are again individually handed the gift of life. Our soul. As our Delaney sisters wrote at the ages of 103 and 105…life was given longer to them than any of those they knew. They decided to love the moments. To love the gift. To realize their souls were created for this life of all experiences. To make each day worthy of their creation. Our epitaph will be written tonight. Will we make our decisions today worthy of imprinting in the stone?
Thank you for letting me enter your Thursday. Let’s go notice the little bird singing for us. The little rose created for us. The little hands making smudges for us to clean. The bright eyes of our older ones as they change and discover more details in their earth. The slowness of older ones we love. Can we slow down for them and look them in the eyes and listen to their stories? The little rabbit right under the swing set greeting the silence of this morning with me. Another day. Another gift. I hope you can run over to our shop, especially if you need to get away from your particular realities and enter a place of peace. Where you can have the memory of stillness (unless kids are playing!). The memory of a cup of coffee served to you. The memory of books surrounding you to give you whatever you personally need from the words inside wanting to come out and be read. The memory of a smile. Susan
Latin for this week: Vita pulchra est - Life is beautiful memoratus in aeternum - forever remembered prima rosa - first rose in utero - expected, awaited, embryonic oscen - songbird, a singing bird Works Cited: Morris, Audrey Stone. One Thousand Inspirational Things. Chicago. People's Book Club. 1948.