Solstice: The solstice (combining the Latin words sol for “Sun” and sistere for “To Stand Still” is the point where the sun appears to reach either its highest or lowest point in the sky for the year and thus ancient astronomers came to know the day as one where the sun appeared to stand still. ; a change of darkness to light
This is not the week I had pictured in my head. And this is not what I had planned to write about. I had planned to write about the quiet of this week. The approaching winter solstice and that stillness in nature that begins with winter. I was going to take you on a little pictorial journey around my home and show you the richness of the deep green palms against the russet browns of the marsh grass and those last few bright orange and red leaves still hanging on the cherry trees and sumac. I was going to show you the serene beauty of the beach on these shortest of days and the beginnings of those red tinged winter sunrises to come. That is what I had planned for this week. But that is not what the week had planned for me.
Winter solstice week, started out as anything but quiet. Sunday was stormy, windy and rainy. I was lulled into believing that it was ushering in a week of quiet. I was wrong.
On Monday afternoon, I found myself in an Emergency Room, 250 miles from home trying to provide support and comfort to one of my children who had become very ill. Since then, he and I have been trapped in the hospital world. A place where there is no night and day, there is no quiet, no rest. It is the most unnatural of worlds. Instead of sea water, salt air and marsh grass we are surrounded by blinking lights, screaming monitors, discomfort, pain, helplessness and frustration. A place that is supposed to feel like healing but somehow feels quite the opposite.
Still. Peaceful. Untroubled. Restful. Harmonious. Serene. Silent. Easy. Comforting.
Those were the words that came to my mind as I first contemplated this week. None of them are easy to find now. But I am searching everywhere. I drank my coffee this morning in silence and watched the day arrive through the hospital window. Peaceful, harmonious and serene, the dawn was dressed in rich reds and oranges and golds. As I write, I look over and watch my son asleep after a night of excruciating pain, his face, finally still and untroubled. It may only last a moment or two but I am grateful for that small gift. The comfort that our family and friends extend to us keeps us going, especially in the dark moments when the light seems so far away and when I can’t find a moment to respond back to their kindness.
This week was not what my son or I expected or imagined. But life rarely is. As a painter I get to play God and control as much or as little as I wish. But once I step away from the easel, control is lost. A self admitted control freak, so often I struggle against life more than I graciously accept it. The one constant of life is change. And in that I have placed my hopes. I am searching each day for a moment or two that expresses what I originally envisioned for this week. At times, all the words seem desperately out of reach and I feel like we are in a dark tunnel with no end in sight. But I am hoping for a change. And hoping that like the sun, we have reached our lowest point and now we, too, will begin the climb back up.
The days grow short, then there is a pause and the days begin to grow long again. Darkness into light. Please.🤞
You’re stronger than other humans. Love you babe. ❤️
Sending prayers for a quick recovery for him so you can get him to Tybee and the peace of a mother’s love, the marsh and the ocean.