Writer Madeleine L’Engle says of grief, in her book Two-Part Invention, that it “has to be worked through. It is like walking through water. Sometimes there are little waves lapping about my feet. Sometimes there is an enormous breaker that knocks me down. Sometimes there is a sudden and fierce squall. But I know that many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.”
My dear friend, Maureen Ryan Griffin posted a beautiful essay about her father and how he "gave her wings." He didn't give many tangible gifts, but she learned after his passing recently, he was a most generous person who donated to various charities and helped support a child in a foreign country. I think he was like men of my father's generation who didn't want to give their children too many presents or gifts because he wanted them to work for what they wanted. My mother was the one who gave me any gifts I received like my first diary, made me pretty clothes and bought me shoes like I wanted. She was Santa Claus when I was little.
Maureen's prompt, she gives one in each of her newsletters, grabbed me today. Having lost my last brother in the past month, her prompt to write about someone who gave you wings made me think about each of my brothers and how they gave me the gift of wings.
Maureen wrote about her father, who seemed a lot like mine because he was rather aloof. But in her essay, she remembers the many things she had not noticed when she was younger, that her father gave her and they were intangible gifts rather than tangible.
I have so many people on my list of those who gave me wings, I could write a book about them and fill many pages. I would start with my mother, my sister June, her husband, Stan and Gay, of course. My other brothers, Ray, Hal and Rex were all there for me after I was older, but Max was there when I was a child.
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| Terrible picture of Gay and me, but pretty good of Max |
My brother Max took Gay and me under his wings when we were little girls. His gift of telling us stories from books he and Ray, my older brother read, probably led to my love of reading. He told us a chapter out of a book or maybe two chapters each night as we cuddled beside him in a large hammock hanging on a big limb of the giant oak tree that stood like a protector of our home. My Friend Flicka was one of my favorite books he shared with us. Max had a fantastic memory like no one I have ever known and that is why he could tell us what he read and make it exciting and fun.
I felt such love from Max and that helped me deal with feeling unloved by my father who was distant and seldom gave me any attention. I think back on the good times I had with Max growing up. He loved nature and was curious about all creatures on the land and water. He took us with him into the woods and we learned about the birds and looked into the nests. He knew the bird by the color of her eggs. He took us to the hill where the Easter Lillies grew and helped us find the wild violets. He was in his teens when I was five or six. But he enjoyed sharing what he knew with Gay and me.
I won't tell about how his teasing sometimes left me in tears, but, as Mother said, he was just playing.
I am like Max in that I am curious and interested in learning about people, places, and nature in all its forms. It sometimes makes me sad that I can't learn all I want to learn in the years I have left. But it won't stop me from trying.
Visit Maureen's website https://wordplaynow.com
You will love her as all who know her do. Sign up for her newsletter. I wish I could attend one of her writing retreats at the beach. That would be such fun.
As I try to get my life on track after having COVID in January and losing my brother in February I am trying to learn how to live in two places, travel back and forth, and get medical help lined up, please bear with me and send positive thoughts.
Thanks for reading and hope you are having good weather and good health.
Don wrote, "My wife and I are returning to Campbell in August. I'm scheduled to take