For a friend.
"Now is the time of dark invitation, beyond a frontier you did not expect; Abruptly, your old life seems distant." (pp. 60)
It has been two weeks since Michigan received its "dark invitation" to keep our children home, cease physical contact with the people we love, and helplessly watch parts of our country - and the world - descend into harrowing scenes of loss and grief. We watch as the news and statistics mark a path that soon may twist through our own geographic corners of the globe. Even in small, safe towns like the one I live in, even in healthy homes like the one I am lucky enough to inhabit. And in this moment, I once again turn to the poem that began this blog in late December, now many, many lifetimes ago: For a Friend, Upon the Arrival of Illness.
These lines are especially beautiful and relevant right now:
May you keep faith with your body,
Learning to see it as a holy sanctuary
Which can bring this night-wound gradually
Toward the healing and freedom of dawn. (pp. 61)
Sending love to all the parents who are stuck home with differently-wired kids, without the support of their in-person therapies and normal structures and routines. I know that this is ten times more difficult when you have a child whose regulation and stability is a fragile balance and whose ability to progress through daily life depends on sensory input, which is limited by the mandate to stay home. You are weathering an additional, largely invisible challenge in the middle of times that are already immensely stressful. You aren't alone.
I hope that you are all well, mentally and physically, and weathering this time with self-compassion and silver linings. In my next post(s), I will write about what has (and hasn't) worked in our household during the first two weeks of quarantine, and about the bright moments that have shone through the clouds of this strange time.