Open Writing

Being human means having to cope with the demands of an ever-changing world of sorrows and joys. Some are anticipated, some unexpected; some are welcomed, some feared; and some bring in their train such a wealth of pain that our poor hearts cannot bear the load, and so they break.

On my recent visit to England, I beheld one of life’s greatest joys, and one of life’s most anguished torments, all in the same moment.

* *

We had barely met, yet she was happy to grasp my hand, closing her eyes with the gentlest of sighs as she did so. Leah May Bowers rested her head in the crook of my arm and settled as if she had known that place all her life.

I knew her name; she did not know mine. Perhaps in time still-to-come someone who remembers me with fondness will tell her who I was.

I gazed at her face, trying to etch each perfect detail into memory so that in days not too distant, when the light of my life has grown dim, I can relive that cherished moment, along with other treasures, that will cause the cooling embers of my life and loves to rekindle for a few fleeting but precious moments.

I stroked her hands down the length of her fingers, marvelled at their perfection, and returned my gaze to her tranquil face. Her beautiful features made tiny involuntary movements, her cherub lips pursed, relaxed, and she fell soundly asleep.

* *

I was visiting Wendy at the time her daughter Jenny had returned home from the hospital with six pounds of angel substance formed into a perfect baby girl. Leah is Wendy’s first grandchild, and she adores her.

Yet, almost hidden from sight in the heart of this new grandmother brimming over with rapture and devotion, was another emotion as dark and cold as death itself. A week ago to the day, her husband of one year told her that he was going back to his "Camilla."

Wendy is not the most eloquent of women, yet her statement that "There were always three of us in this marriage" rang like the stark echo of a not too distant funeral bell as she repeated the words spoken by another who had been betrayed in like manner.

For the most part, we do not choose the times of our joys or our sorrows. Leah May was exactly one month earlier than expected, and Wendy’s life and heart was unexpectedly shattered with even more suddenness.

How Wendy keeps the paired torments of joy and sorrows in her heart with any kind of equilibrium I do not know. Perhaps it is her extraordinary genius as a survivor of many reverses that provides her strength to keep buoyant in distress.

Whatever the answer to that question is, it is certain that human hearts are capable of extraordinary flexibility and accommodation in the tangle of emotions with which they must deal.

I marvelled at her poise. I still marvel as I contemplate the strength she draws from the deepest wells of her being to maintain her attention that others might apply to their own melancholy situation, but which love for the new-born diverts her consideration to another’s needs.

* *

While not everyone’s life is a trail of tears, there are those who are too often visited by broken promises and other causes of grief. These bear burdens that most of us cannot even begin to comprehend.

How Wendy’s heart, while shattered into fragments by betrayal, could at the same time hold such boundless love for her granddaughter, is one of the mysteries that defy common understanding. We can only marvel at the miracle and applaud the sacrifice of self-interest that makes such a victory possible.

It is the sacrificing hearts of those who bask in the light of other suns than ours, that make the world a better and safer place into which innocents like Leah May are born. It is a gift of divine providence that our babies inherit not only the results of our follies, but also the fruits of human selflessness that transcend the bitter stipends of unkindness and self-interest.

* *

A Jewish proverb proclaims: "God could not be everywhere, so he invented mothers."

To which we could justifiably add, "And grandmothers."

Copyright © 2005 – Ronnie Bray
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED