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.
A magic box indeed. A place to safely cradle the pieces of who I
am, the stories that got me there and the threads of where I’m headed.
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This is in response to the “Who Am I” prompt
from “The Blogging Lounge”.
