looking back, and ahead

last night, well after midnight, roy and i fumbled through a darkened house with flashlights and slowly made our way out to the deck, glass of wine and and beer in hand, so that we could sit in chairs with necks craned upward and stare into the vast, dark heavenly skies and watch for the beginnings of the annual perseid meteor shower; i'm lucky out here, in the middle of nowhere, as the night sky is unaffected by such annoying pollutants as other house lights or those detestable mercury lights that take away the soft, velvet blanket that falls after dusk; we were fortunate - the stars were indeed falling, and some left blazing trails that stretched far across the sky, from the roofline on past our viewing range.   roy has always been my willing child - the one who would get up without complaint in the middle of the night and go out with me to lie in wet grass, winter or not, and watch for falling stars and comets.  he, one of my two shining stars, leaves this wednesday, (and i as well) to "shift" him, as my new zealand pal wendy says, from here to the east coast of this state; there is an apartment's worth of furniture to move, that we've managed to gather in these last few weeks, and his dad will thankfully be driving up from alabama to help us with the process.

i went over to my "special" books this morning - the ones on the shelves that i've made, that i shelter with love - and pulled out the piece of art that i call my favorite of all the things i've ever, ever made (all photos can be clicked for greater detail).  if you'll look at the date - with the upside down 8, mind you, and i didn't notice that ever, until today - the silver front panel was hammered six years ago, tomorrow.  i'd been working on an art piece that morning for another book, using some words from a letter from my friend lynne perrella, and set the little rectangle aside for the day.  that evening, roy had a horrific bicycle accident that made time temporarily stand still.   i wrote an essay about the experience, and the following june, built this little brass, silver, and mica house book to contain the words as a gift for roy.   it seems fitting for me to share the words, and images of the artwork, with you today, with him preparing to leave on yet another journey - one that will become a journey of my own, one that takes us both in two completely different, parting directions.  pardon the length, and don't feel an obligation to read it.  but if you so desire, then perhaps you'll want to put the kettle on, and grab a tissue or two.  and maybe your reading glasses, as i could not, for the life of me, get the font to correct itself  (i've been working on this post for nearly five hours, transferring the words with great and inexplicable difficulty from one file to this blog):

   As I sit at my computer here beside the open kitchen window to write these words, I hear the rhythmic, rising and falling songs of the summer cicadas, whose calls hint of bittersweet sighs and the sounds of a gently rolling sea.  Another summer has managed to slip by and catch me off-guard with its imminent plans for departure, whispering its travel itinerary with quiet, subtle signs of earlier dusks and cooler dawns.  In recent weeks, I had been calling this particularly sweet season my Summer of Incredible Adventures, a time that had both amazed and pleased me with its magnitude of occurrences and revelations.  There seemed to be a continual thread or theme of water; many days found me submerged in its body either floating or wading or stepping in sandaled feet across rocky stream beds searching for treasures of nature.

     Embracing this frequent state of immersion with childlike joy, I realized it was the first summer in three years that – other than my daily baths – I’d been in any body of water.  While climbing in late June straight up six miles to the summit of Mt. LeCont in Sokey Mountain National Park, I experienced both thunderstorms and showers of thick hail that left the trail blanketed with white icy beads mixed with the bright fuchsia of felled rhododendron blossoms.  For most of the two days’ hiking, both up and down, I walked in a continual downpour, water flowing down the trail in currents so deep and swift that I felt as if I were forging a stream.  During those soaking walks, I thought of several new designs for art books that eventually revolved around pieces of smooth, worn glass which I began to gather weeks later on the beaches of Jamaica and along the banks of the beloved Tuckaseegee River not three minutes from my house.  The tumbled shards started showing up with growing frequency in my artwork, wrapped with wire, affixed to book covers, dangling before the windows like jewels sparkling in the sun.  There was no limit to the ideas springing forth as I laid the glass on the worktable before me, and in a week’s time I began and completed an altered Water Babies book, from the turn of last century, which I embellished with a variety of glass and vintage water images.  This book inspired me to begin another, into which I have wired coveted “treasures” given to me by the boys – carved sticks, heart rocks, an old watch piece – to the edges of its pages.  The title for this book?  A Summer of Treasures, hammered into a strip of silver and attached on the front of the book, above a worn piece of frosty clear glass, formed by mishap and the elements of nature into the recognizable shape of a heart.

     At the first of this week, as early evening thunder rumbled in the distance, my two boys Robin and Roy darted out of the back door for a neighborhood bike ride, donning their helmets and promising to be back in time for dinner and homework by 8pm

.  Company had just arrived, and the first glass of wine barely poured, when the phone rang.  I detest the phone, and will avoid answering it if at all possible; but something urgent in the sound of that ring made me quickly pick it up.  Robin had called, from a stranger’s cellular phone just down the road, to breathlessly report that Roy had wrecked his bike, was bleeding profusely, and that I needed to come quickly.  There is nothing worse than a mother’s fear of injury.  The moments between my reception of bad news and the instant I opened the car door to Roy seemed stretched nightmarishly into a frozen state, with reality twisted and distorted into something unrecognizable.  My beautiful son was sitting on the ground, stunned, speechless, face ripped and scraped and covered in red.  Maintaining my standard “calm mother’s composure in the moments of crisis”, I began to talk in pseudo-soothing tones, hoping that my false front of calm would quell his rising panic.  Roy couldn’t remember what had happened; and because Robin had gone ahead around a bend in the road, he didn’t see that Roy’s bike had hit a small bump in the sidewalk and lost its front wheel, sending him catapulting into what he would later foggily recollect as an “upside down world”.  Roy’s helmet valiantly suffered the massive blow, slamming into concrete at its frontal right forehead and breaking apart from the impact into three separate pieces.  We spent the next three hours in the local emergency room, checking with cat scans for any severe head injuries and having the wounds flushed out as best we could.  I wish I could properly describe the tender mercies of Robin for his broken younger brother; that tall, gangly, goateed fifteen year old son of mine stood beside Roy the entire time and gently stroked his arm or leg, dabbed at tears and blood running down Roy’s face, and encouraged him to be strong.  I was thanked over and over for “helping” him – imagine! – and upon our return home, I received several left-sided hugs for tending to his fragile needs.  A concussion plays odd tricks with one’s manner of thinking:  thoughts are turned upside down, memory eludes, time twists back upon itself.  Robin and I passed the night taking turns waking a very foggy and confused Roy to ensure that the concussion hadn’t taken more hold than would be expected; and in the morning, blessedly, a bit of his memory seemed to well up from deeper recesses with awkward hesitancy.  He apologizes often for the “sketchiness” of his memory, and we do our part to tap and entice the flow of recollections.

     This accident has brought us even closer together as a tight little family of three, and we each have offered our humble, astounded thanks to the Powers that Be for guarding Roy’s lovely life and keeping it going in the same bright, chaotic, free-spirited manner it has always maintained.  I cannot imagine a life without him – nor can his brother – and we have all become militant advocates for mandatory bicycle helmet use.  I walked outside to the back deck this afternoon, exhausted from a trip with my wounded boy an hour’s drive from here to a reputable plastic surgeon in Asheville, and ran my fingers across the eclectic collection of worn pieces of glass piled high across a table.  At that instant I recognized and acknowledged an amazing correlation between the assortment of tumbled glass scattered throughout the house and Roy’s damaged, broken condition.  His face and neck are a war zone of holes and gouges, scrapes and swollen bruises.  One side of his mouth is currently unwilling to operate in sync with the other side due to its purple, puffy state and proximity to a very raw patch of skin; the entire right profile of his slender neck is raw; his right eye is swollen and slightly crimson along the lash line of the lid; below the thankfully intact beautiful full lips lies a deep, deep scrape that will leave a bad scar, as well as the angry gouge and cut at the bottom corner of his right eye.  This luminous, feisty 14 year old son of mine, pistol to the core, looked askance at me this morning as we gathered blanket and pillow for the trip to the surgeon’s office, and said in his best muffled Quasimoto voice, “She gave me medical attention…”, smiling coyly at me as much as possible through all of the soreness and injury.  In the golden light of late afternoon, we decided with fits of cautious laughter to snap some photos of him posing as a monster straight out of a vintage horror film.  I realize that, in looking back, it was at this lightened moment when the tumbling of the waters of days in our lives began to make its magic:  the sharp, raw edges, with treatment and time, will assuredly begin to heal over and assume a welcome, new smoothness, even if what we see may not be a mirrored reflection of the original surface.

But there will, without question, be greater depth of character, wisdom and grace that comes from having survived and conquered a difficult and painful misfortune.  I see my child before me, his composure solid, self-assured and calm, with head held high as he walks through a grocery store for his first public appearance since the accident and endures the stares of small children and averted glances of adults.  In watching this grand example of noble dignity, I feel my heart beginning to swell so tightly with pride and love that I believe the sound of exploding emotion will surely be heard by anyone within close proximity.  On the drive back home from the plastic surgeon’s office through western mountains opaque as beach glass with afternoon humidity, Roy gingerly laid the “good” side of his head down across my forearm in a blatant display of tender endearment and blurted out how much he loves me; and as I held my hand tightly on his knee, he allowed it to linger there, amazingly, for most of our journey home.

     We pass through these days, whether summer, autumn, winter or spring, and sometimes neglect to take note of the small details that wrap themselves around us as we walk and swim and ride the hours away.  Time rushes past, and more often than not, we feel cheated somehow of whole sections of seasons and years, so hurried we are in our swaying and jumping from chore to chore, from project and career deadlines to any number of the typical obligations and errands that consume our days.  Inevitably, though, we are all at some point subjected to an event or occurrence so starting in its suddenness, so shocking in its interruptive, unpredictable nature, that time truly seems to screech to a halt until we can sort through the variety of feelings, both physical and mental, endured in moments of crisis.  Only then do we finally stop to take a deep long breath and check ourselves over for any nicks or scrapes of the heart and soul that may have been inflicted when our world was briefly turned upside down.  We look around us, glance down and pick up the random pieces of our lives that have fallen out of our pockets, brush ourselves off, and then focus our vision with renewed conviction straight ahead to the days that wait for us.  I feel completely, acutely, keenly alive today with my two able-bodied, clear-minded sons sitting next to me here in our safe little home up on Heart Rock Hill.  The world begins again to turn, our edges seem smoother with experience, and the love that we share for one another feels impossibly deeper, somehow bolder and fierce, as deep and as strong as the currents of the river that are tumbling those frosted shards of glass on their path toward the distant and beautiful rolling aqua sea.

Comments

[Cindy Dean]

Amazing Story! As always, taking me on the journey with you thru your words.

[Cindy Dean]

Amazing Story! As always, taking me on the journey with you thru your words.

[nita from red tin heart]

That was so beautiful. What on this earth is more important than our children? Nothing. You show such love for them. I love that about you. Nita

[tonja]

I can feel the love in your heart and the treasure of your words. Thank you for the sharing of such a blessed event in your life.

[Star]

The book you made for Roy is full of special treasures and your story was beautifully shared. It is obvious that your family of three has a closeness that goes beyond the grudging respect of most teens for their parents.

The week ahead will signal another corner turned.

[kim]

well, you were right about those tears...and the ache in my heart...thank~you for sharing something so personal...xox~kim

[Cre8Tiva]

this was worth reading ever last word...i know how difficult that trip to the coast will be for you...and i also know how the trip back home will be...and the days to follow as you create your new nest and learn what all mother's must...a soft hug for your heart tonight...blessings, rebecca

[Jen Crossley]

Nina there is nothing like a mothers love for there child.I felt your pain and yes I needed tissues!!.
Your story touched my heart.
Jen

[ro bruhn]

Oh Nina, there are very few mothers who haven't been there, you tell it so beautifully, it brings back the occasions I've had with my girls, and more recently the event of my two year old grand daughter, being rushed off to hospital in the ambulance, because she swallowed a relative's (who's not used to having children around) blood pressure pills. She's recovered now, back to her bouncing self, but at the time, it was heart in the mouth, gut wrenching emotions.
Need I say it, your books as usual are out of this world.
Ro
xo

[janet baskerville]

nina, i too have experienced moments that made time stand still and threatened to take my breath away. i cherish my children and your words have helped to remind me of how blessed and grateful i am. thank you for sharing your heart with the rest of us. janet

[Angie Platten]

Nina, So few are so gifted in their ability to create beautiful art and beautiful words are you are. You should write a book. Thanks you for sharing your story. It touched my heart deeply as I look at my two boys starting kindergarten and second grade tomorrow and I see how quickly fear can grip and paralyze my heart at the thought of harm coming to them. Yet I know there is One who loves them more and can care for them better than I, so I slowly, very slowly and purposely, open my hands. Being a mother is one of the hardest paths to walk yet full of such joy.

[misty]

very beautiful post, nina. such a powerful story... it makes me want to run up to where my babies are sweetly sleeping and just sit and watch them, as they dream about the little things in life, the best things. motherhood has been one of the very best gifts in my life, my children have given me more than i would have ever imagined, they teach me daily how to see things differently and what matters the most. how grateful, proud, and sad i will feel when i am where you are ...letting them go off on their own. i must try to hold on to these days for as long as i can, but it will come all to soon. i know how hard this week will be for you, the ride home will be long & bittersweet, but so full of reflection. i wish i could be there with you. i will be thinking of you. I wish Roy the best, as he starts on this new journey, and you as well. love you dearly. xo

[Penny]

Nina, your beautiful soul always shines through in your writings. My heart will be with you this week as you travel across the state and back.

[tejae]

Nina, your words touch my heart. I'm sorry for your pain and I'm so glad Roy is on the mend. You all are like 3 peas in a pod. xox tejae

[Loretta]

Oh my, Nina. I am indeed crying as I read this, so aware of the renewed pain of having your youngest flying from the nest, testing those strong wings that you have plucked and preened for him.

As I was reading this and looking at your amazing artwork, I thought of when your sons will have children and they will grow up and one day be browsing through the bookcases and find these extraordinary jewels. Your legacy will be unimaginable as you will inspire generations of family that will come after you and they will speak for generations about their grandmother and great great great grandmother Nina, the Princess of Talismans.

[Delia]

This post was amazing...in every single way. I'm at a loss, so I will simply say THANK YOU for sharing these words and images here.
Love,
D.

[Joei]

Nina
These are the kind of posts that make me come back to your site again and again. Gorgeous artwork and tender words that reveal the goodness of a heart open to life

Joei
Rhode Island

[Julie]

Sometimes it is indeed true that what doesn't kill us make us stronger...I am sure my mother has several similiar stories as I did believe I was invincible as a kid..who am I kidding I still do! Anyway, after a quick trip back to my collegiate stomping grounds this weekend I so excited about the opportunity Roy has in front of him I will never forget those 4 years the good, the bad and the ugly...they all play a part in who I am today. And, what a comfort he must have knowing you are there with unyeilding love and support to assist him along the way.

[gillian]

Nina - as a newcomer to your blog I am overwhelmed by your wonderful ability to impart a calm and dignified beauty to your writings. This is indeed a wonderful and heartwarming story - made even more so by the treasure you have created in which to house it. I have just lost an hour or two to reading your previous posts and look forward to reading even more in the future. Thank you so much for sharing

[Jennifer C]

It is incredibly beautiful how you so eloquently account your life experiences to us, priveleged readers fortunate enough to glimpse the world through your eyes. Thank you for sharing such a moving, changing, very personal experience. I, too, cherish my boys. They teach me about the joys in the big little things every day and grant me the gift of tolerance. Blessings and hugs to you now and in the coming days as you experience a new path, new discoveries, maybe new sadnesses. When I think of you I think of an old soul full of so much great wisdom, and I thank you for sharing that. xoxo

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." ~Elizabeth Stone

[beth]

Nina,
I remember this story well, when I took your booklace class in Cleveland and I too was struggling through the many hospitals and trials we were facing due to my husbands motorcycle accident. You sent me what you had written at the time of Roy's accident as well as pictures of Roy's book. I kept that e-mail and it did bring me comfort at that time in my life. You are truly an inspiration in more ways than just art. I look forward to reading your blog every day. You are a very special woman.

[Deb Wire]

Nina, Having only one son that touched my heart to read about your struggles and the love and joy your son gives you. The art work was absolutely amazing too. Deb

[JUDY WILKENFELD]

As we say here, "bloody awesome" post.
Yoour words leave me speechless and with a lump in my throat.
What a mother to have been gifted with.
The book is astoundingly beautiful, from what I have seen of yours, it is surely the best.
All this combined makes you the inspiration i so often tell everyone about.

[Kristen R]

Oh Nina this post is the embodiment of beauty. Truly touching and moving. I like Judy sit with tears in my eyes, I am looking at my treasue who will go off to Kindergarten in 15 days. Our children are definitely the most sacred of gifts we are blessed with.

XOX
Kristen

[Deb Wire]

Nina, Having only one son that touched my heart to read about your struggles and the love and joy your son gives you. The art work was absolutely amazing too. Deb

[Kim]

We learn so much from our children - and always in the most vulnerable, awkward moments.

Your book speaks volumes.

[annie]

my dear nina...this was a wonderful post. i feel what you feel, somewhat...dane is moving into his apartment tomorrow...but, just 45 minutes away. these momma moments seep into our very being...never to be let go, forgotten, always so close to our hearts. i hope to meet the boys one day...and to see you in them. i wish roy a wonderful ride...as i do dane. this is a good thing...painful as it is. remember last year at this time? xoxo...i'll be keeping you in my heart all day wednesday...annie

[Anne Kelly]

Oh, I had fair warning about the tissues. I did and I ignored it. Now I shall have to redo my mascara before work. But thank you, Nina. Your posts always remind me of what's truly important. Not my horrid job that makes me so frustrated and angry; but my beautiful, magical daughter, my beautiful man who is my best friend and playmate, the birds that sing in the tree next to my balcony...
Please, please, please someday write a book full of your heartfelt prose and captivating photos. Make it look like one of your books. And share it with people that need that reminding of what is truly wonderful in their lives.

Thanks once again for lifting me up,
Anne

[Amy]

As a new reader I feel so honored to have been allowed this glimpse into your beautiful family. Each detail captured in such a way that I was unable to stop reading even though I could barely breathe. My own daughter is 3, and I fervently pray that our relationship is as tightly bound that many years into the future as that of you and your boys. Thank you for sharing...this is one of those things, much like a great book, that I will have to go back and read again, and again...of course, I find myself doing that with so many of your postings...and again I thank you for taking notice of and for sharing the details of your life. One is blessed, I believe, in direct proportion to how much notice one does take of the everyday, and the gratefulness one does or does not feel for it. May He bless your socks off!!

[Tracie Huskamp]

dearest one... the poetry and passion in your words... soothing balm for the soul.

each experience and their memories... even the bitter sweet ones... do grow us in profound ways.. as life forces us to bend and sway.

xo... always

[Carol in Mass.]

beautiful....... too tender to say more. thank you for sharing this.

[Jo Stables]

Wow, what a beautiful story. It reminds me of the time my youngest ended up in intensive care, seeing her all hooked up to those machines was heart wrenching. And to see her today, you would never guess!!
Your two sons are a testament to their beautiful 'Mom', pat yourself on the back Nina!
Love Jo
xoxo

[Catherine Witherell]

I love this story and the book that goes with it. My son is only 12 and afraid of his bike, and I admit I have been glad about that except that sometimes I think something will happen, an accident, someday, somehow. You really are a very expressive writer. I feel like I was there and that I love Roy too now. I especially like the "M" attached to the cover and the note from inside the little hanging box. I hope you read this even though you always get so many comments that I am just one of many, so many people that write to you. Thanks for all the stories Nina.

[Gina]

Dear Nina,
Simply beautiful, as always.
~Gina

[Adrienne Berry]

I got to witness the meteor shower as well! I'm back from the Outer Banks now, but we arrived the day of the shower. The whole family set their alarms for 1:30 and we hiked down to the shore at 2:00 am. I'm sure we looked silly all 9 of us on the end of walkway staring up at the sky, but it was worth it! I've never seen anything like it.