As Sidda joined Vivi in staring out into the darkness of the fields, where hundreds of sunflowers grew, she thought: I will never fully know my mother, any more than I will ever know my father or Connor, or myself. I have been missing the point. The point is not knowing another person, or learning to love another person. The point is simply this: how tender can we bear to be? What good manners can we show as we welcome ourselves and others into our hearts? [Rebecca Wells, Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood]
Tenderness is such a quiet thing. It often catches me by surprise. The feeling comes like waking from a deep deep sleep. It washes away the mud and the muck through which I so long saw Life and the people in it.
The matter of good manners has never quite rung true for me. I don’t know if that would make sense to anyone else, but at least I understand.
Yesterday I had yet another amazing visit with the chaplain from hospice. With him I am fearless. I will go where I’ve dared NOT go, all the while knowing I am safe. And never, really EVER, have I been alone.
I’ve missed the point, too. BEing tender is NOT silly. It’s actually BEing real.
I love you, Currie