Recovering

   There are stickers on the wall in the hallway. They are perfectly arranged at eye level if you are a two year old. Their psychedelic color palette adds a touch of whimsy to my otherwise staid and traditional decor. I think I will leave them there for a while. They make me smile.
   There are also small handprints all over the french doors, there is a stack of Clifford books beside my chair along with some carefully collected twigs and sticks, and a few choice rocks that are begging to be added to my collection. If you look carefully you will also likely find a few crayons that have rolled under the sofa accompanied by a stray sock or hair bow. This morning I found a trail of goldfish back to my bedroom. As you might surmise, Little One took up temporary residence over the weekend.
    She came with three bags full of clothes, shoes, diapers, and the like. Her mother, The Daughter, also asked that I please potty train her while she was off traipsing to the Big Apple. We worked on it a bit the first day, but after a 5:45 wake up call and no nap on Saturday, the potty training went out the window. The Daughter tried to convince me that my expertise would prevail over her own inexperience. I am not buying it. If I did it, she can do it. I put the potty away.
  The Husband and I will spend the better part of the next two days recovering from our "staycation" with Little One. We will not be eating any macaroni or raisins or drinking any whole milk. We will, however, be taking long naps and getting in bed very early. We are clearly worn out. But our hearts are full.
   The Husband taught Little One to climb a tree on Saturday. It was all she wanted to do for the next two days. She became the official "tree monkey," and everytime she called herself this, she would laugh with glee. There is nothing better than a gleeful two-year-old. Take a look at some of the wonder for yourself!

And no, she did not take a spill! After raising three sons and the one daughter,

 I am a great believer in the benefits of allowing little people to explore and get 

more than a little dirty. Thus Little One received nothing but encouragement from

 her Pappy and her Nonna in her quest to find some buried treasure on the driveway!

David's Daughter

We have gathered from near and far to pay final tribute to a much loved aunt. Ours is a family where the generations glide over one another in such a way that you cannot tell where one begins and another ends. It is hard to explain to strangers, but it feels very right to us. Once again the warp and woof of life have become integrated in such a way as to illuminate the tapestry of family in the midst of shared grief and celebration.

Out of necessity, weddings and funerals have become the means for our extended family to gather.  They serve to draw us close to one another. I rejoice to find that laughter and tears once again flow seamlessly in the sparkling gem of the house at 403 Park Avenue that my aunt lovingly restored and brought back to life. It has been the family home for more than seventy years, where it now faithfully bears witness to the passing of the generations.

Earlier, at the visitation I had taken my place in the receiving line alongside my eldest aunt.  I, who left home for college at 18 with a restless searching heart, have come home to roost in this place of honor at my aunt’s side. I am the oldest of three sisters. We stand in a row: Kathy, Cindy, Julie. Our names comprise a litany of remembrance in a small town that knows our history as well as we know it ourselves. In our lives away from this place we are wives, mothers, educators, volunteers, denizens of our communities and more.

But today we are David’s daughters. We shake hands, hug necks, and repeat the words over and over again.  I am known once again by my maiden name. We hear stories. At one point I turn to my sisters and say, “I am past middle age and I have never really thought of myself as simply David’s daughter. I have never said these words so many times before today.” My baby sister who was four when our father died marvels that she can never ever remember introducing herself this way. I start to cry. There is something treasured about being known as David’s daughter.

I look at the faces of my sisters and the soul hole gapes open for a second. Suddenly, I am bereft once again. This older woman is still a fatherless daughter even now. I wait for the old wave of pain. It eludes me and suddenly something deep inside shifts.  The carapace over my soul softens. The joy rises up unbidden in my heart and breaks forth over the wall of the dam to flood my soul. I can scarcely breathe. All is still inside of me, waiting.

I stretch forth my hand to take the hand of the elderly man standing in the line before me. I look him in the eye and say again, “I am David’s eldest daughter.” His eyes twinkle as they meet mine. “I know,” he whispers. “I see the Scofield in your face.”

I lie abed this morning in my Momma’s house and replay the hours of yesterday. I recall the words that were spoken at the funeral by those that I love. I smile at some of the things I learned about my aunt. I ponder the beautiful words of an old hymn, unfamiliar to me. 

I talk quietly to God. I marvel that as I whisper aloud the words, “David’s daughter,” the familiar ache is no longer patently obvious. Could it be that the death and the hole and the scar that have shaped my life are finally healed? Could it truly be? Until the tears slide down my face to wet the pillow, I am completely unaware that I am weeping.

God works in mysterious ways. I have traveled 400 miles to bury a loved one only to find that my soul has taken the longed-for journey of a lifetime. I look into the place of familiar sorrow and at long last find only a glorious peace rising up to meet me. The elongated shadow of the valley of death is no longer falling over me, holding me in its thrall.  

I question myself once more, “Could this be real?”

The scripture immediately leaps to mind: “He whom the Son has set free is free indeed.” Suddenly I am walking, no, running in this newfound freedom. 

Why today? Why now?

I close the door to my skeptical self and choose rest. I whisper, “Baruch Hashem Adonai.” There are no more words. The most profound sense of awe and gratitude holds me fast.

I know it to be the kiss of God's grace.

My father, David

My Precious Little One

I am sitting on the couch with my husband and daughter. Yes, I have a beautiful daughter that could keep her parents occupied and in awe by just being. It is amazing the way a grunt, a grin, a sneeze, and a lifting of the head can keep you watching when you love someone so much. I had a dear friend ask, "Is it really true that you can't understand a parent's love until you have your own children?" My answer is YES, but I want to give a small amount of insight in my six weeks of expertise, ha. I will also be putting in the random stats on my little one so that I can remember so please bear with me. I also will likely not be using proper grammar which is going to be very difficult for the Scofield side of the family! I better watch out as my mom aka Honey might edit some of this.

Current stats: Little One is cooing and smiling a lot. She will coo back to you when you talk to her. Amazing! She also is tolerating tummy time more and will lift her head and turn from side to side. Last night she slept for 6 HOURS!! Definitely gaining weight and outgrowing all Newborn clothes and in 0-3mths. Still kicks her right leg a lot especially when upset.

Here is a short blip I wrote in November to try to remember the one month mark:

I am exhausted beyond any point that I have ever reached in my life. The level of tired is so much more as it has been long hours awake for one month and not one weekend. Again, worth it. There are small things, like her breath when she yawns, her hair that won’t stay down, her belly button, and her nostrils that are different sizes that I love. Most people won’t notice these small details but her mom and dad do. They love staring at her and do this more than they watch TV. 

Things I love: grunts and noises as she falls asleep and wakes in the morning. her lips that are perfectly shaped and full of color. her ears that are not small but lay down so nicely. her lip quiver. her pouty face that looks like her father and also sleeping with her mouth open just like he does. her long torso from who knows where (ha). her toes and fingers so delicate. her face so beautiful and so feminine.