solitary vigil
by bam
there are days we mark in silence, days best kept in solitude, in the quiet deep down places where only we can trace the contours of the shadow, the weight of how they’ve changed us, cleared the lens through which we see.
they’re the days that have left their mark on us, indelibly. the days in our lifetime that will forever inscribe the demarcation, time divided starkly––before and ever after.
one by one, or one alone, they’re the days, the dates, the hours that constitute our subterrain, the strata by which our soul is shaped and stretched and textured. it’s the timeline that draws us into depths, to keener understanding of what it means to be alive. or our life, anyway.
it might be a death or disfigurement. it might be birth, or betrothal. a beginning or an end. most often, both at once. to close one chapter is, by definition, to open the next. and while some of those days are duly announced, and bracketed with anything from helium balloons to holding our breath, it might be the weightier ones––the ones whose mark is most unexpungable––best kept in solitary vigil.
it is in the profound spaciousness of unspoken thoughts that we find the room to grope for consequence, that we fumble toward those few faint stirrings that draw us closer and closer to what becomes our truth. we can’t really find our way without the grace of our aloneness, the room where knowing comes. in the beginning and the end, we tread the thin-bare thread of life with but our God to take us by the hand. or so i believe.
and here’s a truth: by the time we’ve hobbled through a few decades (or less or more, depending on our lot), we all accumulate those days. the days whose dates we don’t forget. the day we met our one true love. the long night of our first miscarriage. the house fire that chased us out. the last look into someone’s eyes. the first time the doctor put breath to the word cancer, and quickly added how surprised he was they’d found it deep inside us.
we keep those days in cloak of silence because we are sifting still through all the ways they’ve reconfigured who we know ourselves to be, and how we move through time.
yesterday was one such day for me. one year since i awoke on a gurney, my surgeon by my side. i shudder now to remember it, though at the time i didn’t shudder at all. i was brave that day. it hadn’t sunk in so deeply yet. ever since, and all year long, i’ve had glimpses both of bravery and brokenness. i’ve cried buckets and, then, i’ve set my shoulders firm; i’ve faced the worst of my fears with unflinching questions, endless hours reading, and airplane rides to doctors i wish i’d never needed to know. i’ve slowly, slowly, tried to imagine adding numbers to my years.
april 18 is a date i’ve uttered umpteen times in the last year. date of surgery: date of diagnosis. date of new beginning. date of counting time with deeper intention and attention.
maybe the date will dim, as i move on from it. as 2024 fades to 2025 and . . . (and hallelujah for the 4 that now sits firmly where the 3 began.) a year ago today was the first time i saw my life measured in the span best known as five-year-survival rate, the chance you’ll be around five years hence. believe you me, it’s a bracing thing to count forward and hope and pray you cross the line to––bing! bing! bing! your magic number is….––04.18.28. the date now yours with odds attached.
i’m going for broke here, and placing bets. but that’s only because at this very moment what swells in me is hope. quick as the clouds scuttle across an april sky, i might flinch, get scared, and pull my money from the table.
my point is simply to say that there are days that define who we are, and we keep those days in silent vigil, wrap those days in certain grace. and we pray to God we come out the other side, with lessons learned and underscored, as we reach and reach toward that one repeating prayer: dear Holy Gracious God, let me make of this one most sacred day every iota of blessing that is mine––and yours––to give.
some mornings are so much clumsier than others; this is a clumsy one, but my vow to try–even when i mostly miss–is one i take to heart. to write raw is its own peculiar dare. but here’s the why: because every fleeting while you just might catch a dust mote of life as you know it. and thus i will keep swatting at the passing motes, in hopes of putting words to those ineffable pieces of the puzzle. because we are all bumbling along together here, and in good company we find light and air.
as you look back across the plane of your life, are there days you’ve not forgotten, days you note alone and without mention, because you know how lastingly they’ve marked you? and that’s a questions whose answer you needn’t give voice to here. but just a prompt.
Love you
❤️❤️❤️
One day at a time, one month at a time, one year at a time. I’m ever so hopeful that when 4-18-28 gets here we will be celebrating your victory over cancer! Your courage is inspiring and your diligence to find anwers is amazing. It’s an honor to be in the presenece of someone who keeps on fighting. I don’t know that I would have your courage to do that.
bless you, dear jack. my hunch is that you would. courage comes when we most need it. xoxo
Two Thoughts:
Days like beads on a rosary, that is what comes to mind – along with the four rosary themes, Joyful, Luminous, Sorrowful and Glorious. Those “days” fit somewhere in one rosary theme or another and I thumb the beads in reflection, looking for somewhere to place the worries and hopes. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it just is, and I keep on keeping on.
The picture of “A Day” that you have shared is so different from what you generally share. It is bare bones, like your spare yet beautiful post – the absolute simplicity of the food on a tray, the vulnerability of lack of privacy, a simple curtain parted looking into the clinical corridor, the clinical hints of a nurse deep in thought and the spirometer waiting to the side.
I know your days now are more often filled with the balm of nature and its beauty, yet appreciate your honoring the “sorrowful” mystery beauty too. There is never one without the other…even in nature. Hugs and ❤️
Ohhhh dear Joanie, prayer beads on a rosary, the intermingling of the decades: sorrowful, joyful, mystery.
You do take my breath away.
As for the photo , I know. I chose it over the rare one of me. The morning after surgery. Hospital gown baring a few scars. Pallor. But a face wide open. I am too shy to share such things. And doesn’t hospital tray —read as you so closely read it — say plenty?
Blessings to you and to you all for holding my hand through all this…
So many years have passed since we last saw each other or spoke, but I do keep in touch with you through your writing. This one was particularly poignant as I am soon reaching 80 years. I have been through cancer and many other maladies but am feeling well, and Michael also at 88. We are blessed with two glorious sons and 3 beautiful, loving, talented grandchildren who have captured our hearts. May we be given more years to adore them and you more years to relish the joys of life. Much Love, Laurie Weiss
amen, and hallelujah for your triumphs and your joy. your words in your last full sentence are my deepest prayer. on the head of my pin, those words and angels dance…..
xoxox giant hug, blessed one. xox
Like the other chairs, just simply standing beside you, arm around your brave and frightened and faithful shoulders, lovingly receiving what you have dared to share, and together looking forward to life ahead. 💚
and that is everything, that quiet presence. there is no more generous gift, believe me. and from the bottom of my heart, thank you. xoxoxoxox
Oh, dear Barbara! I know the marking of time, or anniversaries of dark times. I hold you in prayer daily, and send healing light, and blessings from across the miles!! Picture a hug sent from me and as you do so, rub your own arms, or look Youtube for havening!! I do it for myself every night, and it helps!
and you do the same in reply. i send a squishy hug from here to there. bless you, bless you, a thousand times bless you. xoxo
holy holy, Barbara. A heart bow of gratitude for the write raw. for the soil of real that is needed. for the in-this together bumbling. for time.
my heart pulling up a kitchen chair. marking this date too. wrapping it, you, in all things soft. in tender prayer. xo
ah, my darling darling win. thank you for understanding raw, and the why behind it. we’re divining in a cave, and only the glow of our little headlamp lights the way….xoxox
I hope you are back to your favorite sacred breakfasts…
https://pullupachair.org/2007/02/26/breakfast-by-myself-3/
ha!!!! so wild that you found that deep in the long-ago archives! indeed, no breakfast served on plastic trays these days. phew!!! just me and my birds out the window. blessings on you this day. xoxo
Once again you have touched my heart and put words to those thoughts that suddenly jump into my mind. Thank you.
bless you. and thank YOU.
Goodness, Barbie!! So much was going
❤ ❤ ❤
beautifully written, powerfully told. the clarity and depth of your writing denote the clarity and depth of your emotions. bravo Babs!!
xoxox, brother david. and thank you for pulling up a chair.
Not raw, dear bam, but piercingly spare and quartz-crystal clear. I do anticipate that you will spread the table with delicious words on Friday, April 21, 2028, and that I and all the others who gather ’round will savor them as we always do.
Thank you for putting a name to marking the certain numbered blank squares on the kitchen wall calendar on which mental home movies are projected, some wistfully sweet, others achingly sad, each year.
oh, karen, what a poignant image, and so perfectly put. i bow in honor of you and your gift of gloriously plucked words.
and how blessed of you to find the friday nearest the 18th of april in the year 2028….
xoxo