Hollow

A friend shared a quote from a children's book she had been reading with her daughter. The book is called "wishtree" and it was written by Katherine Applegate. The narrator is a tree who references some hollows from wood peckers, lightening, disease, etc. "Hollows offer protection from the elements. A secure spot to sleep and to stash your belongings. They're a safe place. Hollows are proof that something bad can become something good with enough time and care and hope."

I keep thinking about my hollows. I have two prominent ones made by the deaths of my children, but smaller ones abound. There is something about the idea that my painful spaces can one day hold beautiful things. I have already seen evidence of that in my life. My openness in sorrow has provided me the opportunity to hold others' stories of sadness and suffering. What an honor and a privilege to be a keeper.

With Mother's Day approaching, my heart is hurting and my anxiety rising. I am anticipating pain. It's a day full of brunches, flowers, handmade gifts. My identity as mother remains, but those who called me mommy are gone. 

Oliver's death occurred over five months ago and it feels like a lifetime. When Waverly died, Oliver was a constant reminder of her life. His presence tethered me to her. I am floundering more, trying to find connections with him while I am all alone. Sniffing clothes, snuggling toys and hearing his sounds on videos just don't bring me the closeness that his physical being brought for me when I mourned Wavey.

I have found when I reach outward - communing with friends, weeping with those who weep, revealing my brokenness - that is when I sense Oliver. My sweet souled little boy feels present in those moments of connection. It feels like his way of making sure I am ok is in showing up in moments when I am available to others.

My Oliver hollow is a gaping wound. However I trust that in time, it will develop into a reminder of what was lost and hold treasures that were found in spite of the loss.