In the past five days since our grandson, Robert Chester Alexander Lewis, was born, I've attempted to write about the day. . .
Were I writing on paper, mounds of crumpled frustration would litter the floor. Instead, the delete key on my computer is exhausted, begging for reprieve.
Why is writing the story so challenging? Why do my words sound hollow, repetitive, trite?
The translation from emotion to syntax flat, like brushstrokes without paint.
Then, this morning as I began again, I knew.
Robert's birth is not a narrative. It is a poem.
a whisper of words,
profoundly felt yet
scarcely voiced
for fear that their speaking will
de-sanctify
the scared.
That moment when what was not,
is.
A life
A relationship
A love,
limitless,
intangible,
and yet
sleeping soundly
in my arms.
Katherine's strength
Andy's devotion
Elizabeth's (sister) attentiveness
my elation, as witness,
to our daughter
birthing a son
birthing a son
Were I writing on paper, mounds of crumpled frustration would litter the floor. Instead, the delete key on my computer is exhausted, begging for reprieve.
Why is writing the story so challenging? Why do my words sound hollow, repetitive, trite?
The translation from emotion to syntax flat, like brushstrokes without paint.
Then, this morning as I began again, I knew.
Robert's birth is not a narrative. It is a poem.
a whisper of words,
profoundly felt yet
scarcely voiced
for fear that their speaking will
de-sanctify
the scared.
That moment when what was not,
is.
A life
A relationship
A love,
limitless,
intangible,
sleeping soundly
in my arms.
What a wonderful poem punctuated by tender pictures. What a wonderful experience for all of you.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Nola! It feels like he's been a part of our lives for much longer than a week, tomorrow.
ReplyDeleteCongratulations...
ReplyDelete