Simple Abundance, the people, places and things that swell our daily lives with thanksgiving
My foot finds the spot where the floor creaks, coffee sputters and drips into the waiting carafe and our dog Cleo sighs occasionally, but otherwise the house is quiet at five am. I fix myself a coffee and listen, absorbing the unfamiliar silence. Soon, warm air sways curtains following the familiar click, clink, thunk as the furnace beginning its day’s work. I think of my children and husband asleep in their warm beds and take a another sip before returning the milk to the refrigerator where every shelf is full.
My husband sleeps one floor above me, his snoring almost imperceptibly audible through the ceiling. He’s been working long hours and I know he needs this deep sleep. I picture my daughters in their beds, the older one probably in exactly the same position I left her; the youngest, probably uncovered with an arm or leg protruding off the mattress. Everyone is safe and warm.
Cleo rolls onto her back when I pass her in the hallway, her greatest joy being those moments when one of us stops to pet her soft, warm belly. Yes, you’re the best doggie I tell her and she thanks me by excitedly tapping the tiles with her tail.
Coffee in hand, I descend the carpeted stairs into the basement and turn on my computer. It sits on corner desk unit made up of several tan wooden surfaces that are attached to silver, metal posts. My monitor sits on the largest of the wooden surfaces. This is my desk - a space of my own - not quite the ‘room of one’s own’ that Virginia Woolfe suggests for a woman wanting to write - but it’s mine, and I know that it’s more than many women, who also are wives and mothers, possess.
I look around and remember my husband marking out the boundaries for this portion of the basement we were going to finish; how frames were placed along those lines and then walls were positioned and nailed together. He set the boundaries where my desk would go and marked for the technician where to install the high speed Internet connection. I often forget that this area was a gift from my husband, who listened when I told him I wanted a space for me. Today I remember.
I stretch before sitting down, reaching one hand then the other toward the ceiling. The muscles in my arms and back are still sore, reminders of a new skill on the uneven bars mastered at my last gymnastics class. I feel fit, strong and proud. Returning to the sport after 20 years has been more rewarding than I ever anticipated.
I sit down at my computer acutely aware of the simple but abundant blessings in my life: A warm, safe home protecting a family I love; a refrigerator filled to overflowing; the devotion of a beloved dog; a desk of my own; involvement in the sport of my youth; today.
It wasn’t always like this. Ten years ago and four months pregnant I thought my future was guaranteed but a sudden miscarriage followed by the discovery of a tumour in my uterus and the heartbreaking words of the obstetrician that I might not be able to have children slammed the door shut on a dream of motherhood that had become as much a part of me as breathing. As challenging as it was to walk into The Bayview Cancer Centre once a week for blood testing, picturing a life without children was even more difficult.
Each day was an exercise in distraction, as I tried to ignore the grief and fear that accompanied me like an unwanted companion. I grieved for a future that might never materialize and feared what would happen if the tumour spread. I worried about dying and leaving so many dreams unrealized.
I didn’t recognize at the time the signs of depression but my boss noticed the change in me and fired me for not being the "bubbly person" he needed in the position. The loss of income seriously effected cash flow and had we not sold our house when we did, it’s likely bankruptcy would have followed.
It was a time of questioning, reassessing and most importantly, learning. Time brought healing and as the tumour slowly disappeared hope replaced fear and dreams replaced sorrow. I didn’t know what the future held but I no longer took for granted that there would be a future and began to appreciate each day in a new way.
Now, ten years later, not one but two child-sized miracles sleep upstairs in their warm beds and not a day goes by without acknowledging what gifts they are - and what a gift today is.
Copyright © 2004 Pamela Hamilton
My foot finds the spot where the floor creaks, coffee sputters and drips into the waiting carafe and our dog Cleo sighs occasionally, but otherwise the house is quiet at five am. I fix myself a coffee and listen, absorbing the unfamiliar silence. Soon, warm air sways curtains following the familiar click, clink, thunk as the furnace beginning its day’s work. I think of my children and husband asleep in their warm beds and take a another sip before returning the milk to the refrigerator where every shelf is full.
My husband sleeps one floor above me, his snoring almost imperceptibly audible through the ceiling. He’s been working long hours and I know he needs this deep sleep. I picture my daughters in their beds, the older one probably in exactly the same position I left her; the youngest, probably uncovered with an arm or leg protruding off the mattress. Everyone is safe and warm.
Cleo rolls onto her back when I pass her in the hallway, her greatest joy being those moments when one of us stops to pet her soft, warm belly. Yes, you’re the best doggie I tell her and she thanks me by excitedly tapping the tiles with her tail.
Coffee in hand, I descend the carpeted stairs into the basement and turn on my computer. It sits on corner desk unit made up of several tan wooden surfaces that are attached to silver, metal posts. My monitor sits on the largest of the wooden surfaces. This is my desk - a space of my own - not quite the ‘room of one’s own’ that Virginia Woolfe suggests for a woman wanting to write - but it’s mine, and I know that it’s more than many women, who also are wives and mothers, possess.
I look around and remember my husband marking out the boundaries for this portion of the basement we were going to finish; how frames were placed along those lines and then walls were positioned and nailed together. He set the boundaries where my desk would go and marked for the technician where to install the high speed Internet connection. I often forget that this area was a gift from my husband, who listened when I told him I wanted a space for me. Today I remember.
I stretch before sitting down, reaching one hand then the other toward the ceiling. The muscles in my arms and back are still sore, reminders of a new skill on the uneven bars mastered at my last gymnastics class. I feel fit, strong and proud. Returning to the sport after 20 years has been more rewarding than I ever anticipated.
I sit down at my computer acutely aware of the simple but abundant blessings in my life: A warm, safe home protecting a family I love; a refrigerator filled to overflowing; the devotion of a beloved dog; a desk of my own; involvement in the sport of my youth; today.
It wasn’t always like this. Ten years ago and four months pregnant I thought my future was guaranteed but a sudden miscarriage followed by the discovery of a tumour in my uterus and the heartbreaking words of the obstetrician that I might not be able to have children slammed the door shut on a dream of motherhood that had become as much a part of me as breathing. As challenging as it was to walk into The Bayview Cancer Centre once a week for blood testing, picturing a life without children was even more difficult.
Each day was an exercise in distraction, as I tried to ignore the grief and fear that accompanied me like an unwanted companion. I grieved for a future that might never materialize and feared what would happen if the tumour spread. I worried about dying and leaving so many dreams unrealized.
I didn’t recognize at the time the signs of depression but my boss noticed the change in me and fired me for not being the "bubbly person" he needed in the position. The loss of income seriously effected cash flow and had we not sold our house when we did, it’s likely bankruptcy would have followed.
It was a time of questioning, reassessing and most importantly, learning. Time brought healing and as the tumour slowly disappeared hope replaced fear and dreams replaced sorrow. I didn’t know what the future held but I no longer took for granted that there would be a future and began to appreciate each day in a new way.
Now, ten years later, not one but two child-sized miracles sleep upstairs in their warm beds and not a day goes by without acknowledging what gifts they are - and what a gift today is.
Copyright © 2004 Pamela Hamilton
posted by Pamela Hamilton at 11:43 PM
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