By Appointment

Grammy would have been 96 years old today. Almost eight years of remembering my maternal grandmother with so much sentiment and often yearning. When I was about six years of age I was afraid to tell this powerful woman that I needed to go to the bathroom. And it was she I passionately wanted to visit over the years because I knew with all my knowing how loved I was.

Fascinating memories arise when I turn to her. She was the one who came and saved me from the rightfully furious wasps, who’s nest my siblings and I trampled upon while looking for our wiffle ball. I was frozen in the ivy on the small hill in my grandparents yard, and she freed me from the attack. In my memory she was the one who scooped me from the pool one summer day when I fell before I knew how to swim. Whether there is truth to this memory or not means nothing to me. My grandmother who rarely gave praise was an inspiration for me to keep using my words on paper.

This day is the birth of Julia Robles Soza. She is 48 years old today. I am acutely aware that my survival as a mother is dependent upon her. Another mother that chooses to love fiercely and without conditions. It’s been 12 years that mama Julia has made a weight of caring for such a precious incarnation of divinity more bearable. It is mama Julia that loves me when it feels impossible to love myself for the grief and the guilt that being a mother to my own child is sometimes too much.

Tomorrow will be ten weeks since my father died. In peace and without forewarning he left us all. Inevitable experience of death that culminates life is my teacher right now. Lessons being learned that are so pure and so visceral. Instruction designed to show me that there is indeed living that happens after dying. My parent is still raising me. What I may not have always known, is that he will never leave me.

Today marks one year and 82 days since our current political administration has been in office. I recognize that a part of me has been numb for just as long. The ability to stay with the injustice, the hatred, and violations that surface everyday is more than I am wired for. And yet, I am human and born with a system for social engagement as a means of survival. I can only truly exist if those around me are sustained as well. Otherwise, I was born and without meaning. For I am you, and her, and them. My DNA would not have me in separation from a being living upon another continent, another ancestral line. I am willing to follow the lines back and back and back only to honor what still lies ahead.

Spring day in the desert with temperatures fluctuating within twenty record breaking degrees from just two days ago means something. Global warming is real. There is no mystery for anyone who is paying attention. The scientific evidence is lived by each breathing organism. Plant. Animal. Mineral.

The Nasturtium I potted Saturday is flowering today, six days later. The leaves I swept up have been replaced with new ones. The Brittlebush, and Ruellia are rooting on this earth in an attempt to persevere transition. I am a keeper of life, my own, and these species around me. A daily dress of humility as I tend to God within all things, and still they will live and die in accordance with all that I am unable to control. Though some of those contracts are murderous and I have no right to close my eyes.

Those that have loved me, and that love me back when I love, create the threads of my flesh and my bone. Light rivers resourced by this bewitching action. Training in surrender to the substantial power of such a tiny receiving that today can mean all of this.

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