In A Field

Abby is standing in the open door.  Stopping to turn around and say good-bye to me for the day.  Her hair is combed and pinned up, scarf tied neatly around her neck, book bag slung over her shoulder.  I know she is nearing 11, but today she looks older.  Wiser.  More put together than I ever remember being. I'm very aware that she is now the same age I was when my mother got sick.  My Dad, Jamie, Matt and I spent almost every weekend in Halifax.  Staying with my Aunt Glady, sleeping on pull-out sofas, reading Bobbsey Twins books, taking trips to the Candy Bowl , eating pizza, and the long car rides back and forth to the city.  I also remember the long walk through the lobby of the VG, the ride up in the elevator and the quick run/walk to her room.  There was always a fuss made over Matt, he was such a sweet little boy at six. I have a vivid memory of lying in bed with ...

Willow Tree A soft wind blows through your delicate branches, weaving, whispering, bending. A stronger wind pushes and pulls at your beautiful arms, scattering your leaves, changing your appearance. The storms rage and you dance.   You bend but you do not break. The wind makes your back stand straighter. It makes you stronger. Your limbs sway in a glorious dance before your Maker. Your roots grip the soil, curl around stone and earth.   You are steady. You stand.   Unbroken. For a friend.

Thursday afternoons you`ll find him at gymnastics.  He tumbles, hops, balances, hangs, and dismounts like a pro.  The same little boy who had trouble standing on one foot can walk on a balance beam without falling off.  He can crab walk across parallel bars and pull his feet up to meet his hands while he swings from a pair of suspended rings.  Most Thursdays.  We`ve been maneuvering through new territory.  Realizing a good day begins with a great sleep. Thursdays are long.  He doesn`t pretend.  If he`s tired, he`s tired and there`s nothing we can do but wait until he`s had a rest.  Two classes were spent sitting on the sidelines wishing to go home. Elias`physio-therapist attends his class- her son is 4 too.  She watches him while he plays, quick to point out the progress he is making.  I`m the first to admit what a blessing she is.  This is her son`s class, not a physio appointme...