How would you describe your childhood relationship with your mother and/or father?
A little at a time.
A memory comes to mind, of standing in my father’s office doorway, looking in, and watching him work. He sat there at his desk, framed by the window beyond. I could only see the sky, and sunlight pouring in, but he probably could see the barn, the garden, the pond, and the hayfields.
I remember traipsing through the woods with him, tapping trees for the sugaring. And one night, my mom made him dinner and packed it in a lunchbox. My job was to carry it, along with a thermos of coffee, to him. I walked down the long and treacherously icy, snow-laden road from the farmhouse to the sugarhouse in freezing darkness. He ate well, and kept watch on the boiling-pans where maple magic happened.
My mother - trained as a nurse, she raised two children, staying sane by studying art, then by pursuing it. Confidant & refuge, everloving kindness. She taught me to sleep under the stars & showed me the magic of the woods.
They split up when I was nine. Earthshattering.
September 21st, 2007 at 19:08
Dear Gavin,
Your description is poetic, beautiful, poignant and passionate. Thank you for sharing.
I love you.
Mom