Morning Birds

Caw, caw, caw, caw, caw. I woke up straight into the arms of morning crows and I could have been 5-years-old in my New Jersey home, the birds calling from the two oak trees just outside of my second- story bedroom window. They often welcomed me into the day like this and that cellular memory is like the smell of cookies baking in Grandma’s kitchen, warm, comforting, a daily announcement that we belong to this earth, this life, this extraordinary gift of consciousness. It was lovely to revisit that reminder offered to me yet again on this foggy morning in San Francisco. 

 

But there is a deep shadow hanging over all the joys of my present life, from the New Orleans Jazz Course to Slovenia biking to the SF visit from the grandkids in the big picture and playing at the Jewish Home, walking 7 miles yesterday touring a visitor around this beautiful city, watching the end of 8 Seasons of Monk last night. It looks like my first daughter, who I have loved to the ends of the earth these past 44 years, is headed for divorce. 

 

Of course, there is no shame in divorce and no honor in never divorcing (sometimes when it might have been a better idea for both partners). Indeed, most of the people I have admired who helped shape my life and my thinking—Carl Orff, Gary Snyder, Louis Armstrong—all had four different wives. And working in a school for 45 years, I worked with probably over 50% of the kids coming from homes of divorced parents. 

 

But it struck me today how rare divorce has been in my immediate family. My grandparents, parents, four uncles and aunts all stayed with one person, as has my sister and six cousins. 3 of the 9 men in my Men’s Group had been divorced, but all of them before I met them and none in the 34 years we’ve been meeting. And only one (to date) amongst their sixteen children. It seems like with this background, some part of me is hardwired to stay the course.

 

Yesterday was my daughter’s 16^th wedding anniversary, so her present struggle felt yet more sad. As of now, she and her husband are separated and having a very difficult time communicating with each other. I won’t go into the details, but it ain’t pretty and from my point of view, 95% of it is his significant traumas long kept at bay rising up and overtaking him. In spite of her heroic efforts over the years to give him the love and support he never got that he deeply needed (as we all do), it wasn’t enough and he’s in some kind of trance where he’s incapable of thanking her and indeed, blaming her for everything that’s happening to him now. She herself is doing impressive inner work to own her part in the dynamic while also committing to take care of her own needs and those of her two children. Who seem to be doing much better without the tension in the house, but of course, are still suffering.

 

12 years ago, Hurricane Sandy blew through my childhood town and felled the two oak trees outside my house. Not only were they gone, but they crashed into the house and the entire house had to be demolished and built anew as a new home. Being the nostalgic person I am, this was a severe blow to me, a literal version of “you can’t go home again.” I have been back to see the new unrecognizable house and my one tiny consolation is my old garage toward the back is still there. 

 

But the birds sing on in new trees, people are living in that new house and as Robert Frost says in his one incontrovertible truth, “Life goes on. “ No one knows how this complex drama and trauma will play out, but all I can do is be present for my daughter and grandchildren and yes, for my son-in-law as well in spite of my anger with him at the moment for his refusal to take responsibility. I need to acknowledge the deep sadness and at the same time, be grateful for these two children, celebrate the many victories my son-in-law achieved, the many sweet moments their family knew and keep listening to those birds announcing “our place in the family of things.” (Mary Oliver- Wild Geese)