The White Spotted Owl

When I saw the white, spotted owl on my morning walk yesterday, I knew it meant something. Can't explain it.  But I stopped in my tracks.  My dog noticed it too.  It was like a notice.  Pay attention. 

I didn't think about it again.  Until this morning. When I was walking in the very same spot.  I didn't see the owl.  But I grabbed my phone and made a very important call.

Today is one of the best days of my life. At 3:18am, October 20, 2008, I gave birth to a precious, perfect baby girl.  Every detail is still so crystal clear:  the spicy chili I made (I had heard spicy foods induce labor; the contraction while I was chopping onions; the next one... and the next; the bedtime prayer with my son, telling him tomorrow he would be a big brother; the drive to the hospital and the call I made to my mom saying I was certain baby girl was on her way; the harsh hospital lights when I walked in that night; falling asleep and the nurse later waking me to say, "time to push;" the magic I felt when I held my daughter for the first time...  

I laid awake staring at her until the sun came up.  Never did I know such unconditional love for a girl until that moment!  But what followed is the kind of story with a juxtaposition so great, you can't ignore it - or ever forget it.  

My phone rang.

"Dawn, I am so sorry to call with this news, but our dear friend Anne Pressly was attacked. 

WHAT?

Another friend:  "I am so happy for you, Dawn.  But this is really bad."

All the words blended into a melting pot of horror.. unrecognizable, overnight attack, beaten, never showed up for the morning show... 

Then, someone told me that her precious mom picked up the phone to call Pressly.  It was her morning wake up call for her daughter, who's job was the same as mine, just a different hour of the day.  Anne did not answer.  

I imagine for her mom, it was the kind of knowing -deep in your gut- when you just feel you know. Something horrible happened.  The rest of Anne's story is not what this blog is about, though.  It's about a mother's love for her daughter. 

I sat staring in awe at mine, who'd just taken her first breath.  I couldn't stop thinking about Anne, who was taking her last breaths. I couldn't stop thinking about her mother who was living a nightmare. 

I later found out that the moment I gave birth was the moment Anne was fighting to stay alive.  It has haunted me ever since. I've never written about it until today, 13 years later. My daughter is 13.  Anne's mother marks 13 years without hers. 

When I passed the spot where I saw that white spotted owl, I instinctively called Anne Pressly's mom.  The moment we heard each other's voices, there were immediate tears.  She didn't want to talk about Anne, though.  She wanted to hear all about my daughter. What she is like.  What she loves.  Her personality...   turns out, my girl is a lot like Anne, her mother told me. Both have a wicked sense of humor, bold and courageous, yet humble and kind, giving special attention to those who may be marginalized or 'different.'   

Two mommas who share a sacred, holy moment in time...

I find myself asking why.  Screaming it, really.  WHY? 

Why do I get to talk to my daughter everyday and she doesn't?  Why did mine get the privilege of life on this beautiful planet and hers did not? Why do I get to celebrate my girl's birthday and she does not?  

Today on the phone, Anne's mom said to me, "I take it one day at a time, Dawn.  I want to remember the hugs and the kiss, when I kissed her on the forehead."  She went on to say that "God has a way of blotting out the horror... the suffering dissipates." Her incredible, unwavering faith is what carries her. 

In the conversation, I shared that my mom had died earlier this year.  She said to me, "I am here for you. Let me help you learn to nourish you and lean on God." 

An incredible woman, mother- sharing wisdom and endurance, born out of a pain most of us will never know.

Later, I looked up what that white, spotted owl symbolized.  Guardian spirits who protect us, representing wisdom and endurance.  We all have them, if only we stop to pay attention. 

Grief, Braces, Loss, Coronavirus and the "Mother lode"

It was pouring rain.  A complete pathetic fallacy, looking back at the events of January 7th.

My 12-year old was beside herself all morning.  On the way to the appointment, she looked at me and smiled so big past those nerves that were wearing her down. I snapped a picture. We realized it was the last time in 2 years she'd be smiling without a mouth full of metal.  We were on our way to get braces.

It wasn't just her anxiety that was through the roof.  My mother was in home hospice.  Her health had deteriorated.  Death was imminent.  Every time I left her side, I feared it would be the last time I'd see her alive. 

Yet life didn't care that death was hovering that day.  Children must go to school.  Daughters need braces.  Appointments made months ago require you to show up.  Life carries on.  

But when it came to mom, death won the day.

Mom would never see her granddaughter with braces.  

After the appointment, I rushed back to my mother's side.  Her heart rate dropped.  Her breathing was rapid.  My aunt (her primary caregiver) and I looked at each other through tears, realizing it was the end. 

In a sweep of grace, the three of us lived through something so sacred, so beautiful, yet heart-wrenching, all at once.  We held her and prayed, as mom took her last breath. 

Everything that followed has not been so beautiful.  Yet wise souls in my life remind me constantly: in life, all that doesn't seem so beautiful is truly the "Mother lode," if you choose to search for those gifts buried deep in the mud.

(Mother lode: "a principal vein or zone of gold or silver ore.  The term is also used colloquially to refer to the real or imaginary origin of something valuable or in great abundance.")

I'm not sure I've found ANY silver (aside from the silver on my daughter's teeth).  But I've found a whole lot of grief and sadness. I certainly haven't found gold.  But I have found that my circle of friends and family have hearts of gold, so large and loving, they've lifted and supported me when I couldn't get out of that mud. 

I also found coronavirus.  Or it found me just a few weeks after mom died. It was a one-two sucker punch, and I took it real personal.  Three days in, I found myself as sick as I've ever been in my life. I was beyond exhausted.  I slept and slept, and I felt like I was never waking up better. Only waking up wondering if my mom's death and the virus were all just a nightmare.  The massive winter storm during illness and grief was yet another pathetic fallacy.

(Pathetic fallacy: the idea that the weather mirrors human emotions)

It was the winter of my life. Yet the snowfall seemed too much.  If I were writing a novel about these events, I wouldn't have used snowfall as a back drop, because it would seem just too melodramatic. 

After 3 weeks, I recovered from COVID-19.  But I don't know what the coming months will bring or if I will have any lasting or "new" symptoms pop up.  Whether you've been sick or not, the pandemic stole from all of us. It took the way we lived, worked, traveled and learned, and it forced us to hunker down and avoid death.  Yet half a million in our nation so far didn't avoid death.  Coronavirus collectively took a year of our life expectancy in the United States.  

It feels heavy. Illness and death swirls everywhere.  

To carry on without mom makes it worse.  Mothers are our pathway to life on earth. Moms get us here.  

I know the load will lighten.  For now, I'll take over as matriarch to my amazing son and daughter, and when she smiles, I'll at least see silver.  A constant reminder to keep searching for the Mother lode.  One day, I know sunshine will reveal the gold embedded deep inside this shattered landscape.  

My daughter, just after getting her braces

My beautiful momma