Mother Moon, do you recall at the beginning of this year, when I brought my children out into our snow-covered postage stamp backyard to meet you? We performed our first moon ritual as a family, with both mamas lending their feminine energy to our circle. Each of us wrote a full moon wish on a piece of paper (even little Noodle) and we burned our wishes as offerings before releasing the circle and heading inside for hot cocoa. I asked you for the truth. You’ve delivered it in ways that have torn my very soul from my body. Tonight’s moon…
Long before my life…what’s the phrase I want to use here? Caved in? Fell apart? Transformed? Long before everything changed, I’d agreed to house and pet sit for my dear friends Nat and Mike in the east end of Toronto. That’s where I am now; laying in their bed, the white noise of a little fan near the window drowning out all other sound. I’m up too early on a Sunday morning, but maybe I’ll nap after I write this. I’ve been here since Wednesday, with Noodle at my side for three full days. I needed time, just the two…
My grandmother had twelve children, eleven of whom survived through infancy. She lived with an alcoholic husband, and dealt with all of the hardships that come with such a life; poverty, violence, heartache, fear, before finally realizing her power. Each May, she’s in my thoughts. Her birthday was the 17th and her favourite flowers were lilacs. Even after the polar spring we had, the lilacs are bursting forth, and my heart is full of Grandmaman. What would she say to me if she were here right now? She’d tell me to pray, because her faith was her shield. She’d tell…
Wednesday. My first day back in the house, solo with the kids. He was there. I hadn’t counted on that, and so I sat at the breakfast bar, head in my laptop, churning with a mixture of adoration and devastation. I held myself together until he walked out the door. Then, after my second cry of the day, it was quiet. The house was spotless and this was nice to come home to. I threw a frozen pizza in the oven so lunches would be covered in the morning. I worked steadily until the bus came, and went to meet…
Tuesday. When I imagine this day, I imagine sleeping in. Instead, my internal alarm wakes me at 6:30 in the morning, so I sit up in bed and write a chapter of the YA novel I’m drafting. The sound of the rain on the windows is so familiar. This is the house I grew up in and that distinct patter takes me back to afternoons spent alone in my room, writing in my diary and listening to the music that I loved. How many heartbreaks have I weathered in this place? I signed up for a month at the local…
