Twenty six years ago, in 1988, I wrote/compiled a book for and about my family as a gift to them titled “Heart of One”. I was 27 at the time, around half the age I am now. The book was a blend of family history, stories and individual profiles of my parents and their five children.
Just before the end of the book, I devoted a single page to each person, giving myself the freedom to mix what others had written and my impressions of them as well. I picked a poem for each person I felt best described them.
I pull “Heart of One” out every now and then and read it. I’m warmed by the memories it evokes and always a little surprised at how my feelings about stories and events evolve over the years. I’m struck by both the clarity and obscured vision I had of my family members, and myself.
My page started with:
Her most precious possession was a magic box
that she kept hidden in a very secret place.
And whenever she wanted, she would unlock her magic box,
and out would fly all her favorite thoughts ~
Beautiful thoughts like the colors of a sunset
or the gentle flutter of a butterfly’s wings.
For 51 years, I've tended that magic box. It holds all the slivered pieces of “Who I Am”. Daughter, Sister, Friend, Wife, Mother, Gatekeeper and Writer. I’m not the blindingly faithful (or naive) person I was then. Now, when I ever so gently lift the lid (usually to engage in a writing piece) I don’t only see those favorite thoughts that mirror sunsets and butterflies. I see a life balanced with joy and pain. One that holds love and sorrow and surely more blessings than I deserve.
This is in response to the “Who Am I” prompt from “The Blogging Lounge”.