Worry Bundles

My adaptation of a tale from Germany. So often our worries overwhelm us and we look with envy at those whose lives seem easier than our own. 

Once there was a woman who was overcome with troubles. No matter where she turned it seemed there was another problem waiting for her. She dreaded the sun's rising, knowing that yet another day of anxiety and stress was ahead of her.

One day she sat in her yard, moaning about her fate. "Ah me!" she cried. "Why is my burden in life so heavy, while those of my neighbors are so light? What have I done to deserve such a difficult load?"

A wise man was passing and happened to hear the woman. "What ails you, sister?" he asked. "You sound as if you had the cares of the world upon your shoulders.

"If you knew how much trouble I bear every day, you would cry with me," the woman said.

"Well, would you like to put down your heavy bundle of woe, and take up that of someone else?"

I would indeed!" The woman sprang from her bench. "How is this possible? I have neighbors who carry much lighter loads than I do, and I would happily trade mine for theirs."

The wise man instructed the woman to follow a certain path to a cave after dark. There she could light a candle and look about. "There will be many bundles in the cave, so choose carefully," he warned.

The woman was so excited she could hardly wait for it to be fully dark. She almost skipped down the path to the cave. When she arrived, she found the candles and quickly lit one. Then she made her way into the cave.

On the floor were many bundles, piled in heaps against the walls. The woman looked around and saw the smallest bundle. "That's the one for me!" she thought. She ran to the bundle and looked inside.

The bundle belonged to her next-door neighbor. Inside she saw a child in a casket, and a mother weeping. She saw an old woman who could not see, and a man bent from hard labor.

"That is the child my neighbor lost so many years ago, her only child. Still she grieves. And that is her old mother who lives far away. She cannot go to her mother, who must beg on the streets. It is breaking her heart. And her husband, poor man, works so hard every day and for very little money. My troubles are bad, but I would not want to carry my neighbor's burden."

She moved to another bundle, another small one. Inside she saw a man beating his wife and children. "I did not know that this man was so cruel! How horrible for his poor family. I would not want to have their problems. What a sad and difficult life they must live."

The woman moved from bundle to bundle, and inside each she found troubles far worse than her own: sickness, death, unhappy marriages, poverty, lost children and so many terrible things that she found it more and more difficult to look into the bundles. At last she saw a bundle in a corner that she had not looked into. She opened it and was surprised to find that this was own bundle. It felt surprisingly light and the worries inside seemed small indeed. As she made her way out of the cave, she saw the wise man waiting for her.

"I did not realize that my neighbors carried such heavy loads," she said. "My troubles are small in comparison. What is this place, anyway?"

This is where people's troubles go when they are sleeping," the wise man said. "For at least a little while, they can put their worries down and rest. The bundles are always here when they wake and start another day."

Tonight, let's lay our burdens down and sleep well. I hope that when you wake you will find your bundle lighter and your way brighter. 

The Richness of Life

Yesterday I called my friend Ellouise to check on her husband who had some recent health issues. As we were talking I mentioned that I'd managed to screw up my knee (taking photos, no less! I knew better than to climb up that roadbank), and we talked a little about my son who is serving in Iraq and a few other family issues. Ellouise said, "To read your blog, you'd think you're living the idyllic life." My reply: I am. She understood exactly what I meant.

Life isn't all about the good, happy things. There is much more to it than that--grief, sadness, anger, frustration, helplessness, tiredness, a job we don't like, to name a few. Certainly I have my share of all the above.

But it's all part of the crazy quilt we call life. To be fully living, one has to experience more than just the easy stuff. I choose not to post about some things because they are personal to a specific person and it's not my right to make it public, or because it could be misinterpreted or make someone unhappy.

So those things won't be on my blog. I will share the happiness I feel each day at being blessed to have a good family, good friends and a beautiful place to live. I will share my writing and my joy at being alive in this time and place.

Each part of my life--the good, the stressful, the happy, the sad, the crazy and the bizarre--add to the wholeness of each day and deepen my appreciation of all that is wonderful in this world. I thank my readers for coming to enjoy it with me, and for sharing a part of their lives with me.

Roller Coaster Week

It's been like that--like riding an emotional roller coaster. Good times with grandkids, great storytelling events that left me with adrenaline highs, then today, waving goodbye yet again to a plane full of soldiers.

They'll go back to Wisconsin where they've been training for the past two months, then in a couple of days they'll be on their way to Tikrit, Iraq. I was astonished at the age of the unit--I learned from some of the wives there that the average age of this group was 40! The two ladies I talked to had husbands who would be 60 years old when they return. Somehow I envisioned our armed forces as young--I thought my son, at 35, was older than most of the men he'd be serving with but such is not the case.

The year will pass quickly. We'll have his kids over here, do things with them, and make plans for when he returns. It will be okay. We'll get through it, like all the other military families who have to do this. I admired one lady today, pregnant and smiling as she waved her husband away. Now that is courage. Sure she cried a little, but she held on until the end and I will keep a picture of her in my mind. I know her soldier is proud of her, as she is of him.

I took no pictures today. We've done this once already, and today I just wanted to be there, to help the kids, and to try to keep a smile on my face. For the most part, I succeeded. Now my next job--keep in touch with him via email, teach the kids how to email, and keep them as busy as I can, and surrounded by love.

Back to Iraq

It finally came---the call I've been dreading. I knew that with two sons still in the military, the odds were that one of them would be called up during this troop surge.

Derek has been there once, and my memory of that time is dark and stressful. He probably handled it better than I did. A soldier always and all ways.

I am one very unhappy mother tonight. I want to be supportive and calm, a woman of strength. I do my best to portray that, but inside? Ah, inside it is a different story.

How do other mothers do this? You'd think I'd be good at it by now, with so many good-byes to my sons in my background. But it's never easy and each time is the first time all over again.

So here we go--a small space of peace and recovery from my father and mother's deaths, a couple of years to recuperate from Derek's last deployment, and a few months to adjust to our youngest son joining the Air Force and going to Germany, a couple of years for Derek to develop a civilian life.

I should have known it was too good to last.

War: 2 Poems

More bad news today. More people killed, more bombs, no news about the 3 missing soldiers, and Congress still not taking the actions needed to end this stupidity. I understand that we can't just leave, but staying without a real plan and leaving our soldiers there to face hatred and ineptness is not an option. And then we put them on trial for the things they might have done. It's a war--people, civilians, they get killed. That's war, and it's ugly and nasty and if we didn't want people to be killed we should not have started this mess.

I am the mother of soldiers. I am the wife, daughter, granddaughter, great-granddaughter of soldiers, back at least to the American Revolution. Military men (and for all I know, women) have been in the family for generations. That does not mean I have to like it. It does not mean I am comfortable with it.

My stomach is in knots every day, and my heart sinks every time I hear another soldier has died. I cannot bear to think of their families, their mothers. I know that most of the soldiers are there because they believe their leaders, and that they serve because they believe it is the right thing to do. That is why my sons joined. They believed it was their duty to defend their country, to serve with pride. I am proud of their choices even as I twist inside with worry.

Right now, I feel lucky. Two sons still in the military, but at the moment neither one in the Mideast. That makes me feel guilty. Other mother's sons and daughters are there. One of mine has already been there, I remind myself, but it doesn't make my real relief at the current safety of my sons seem less selfish.

The two poems below reflect a little of how I feel. I find it hard to put into words, and I worry that somehow I am being disrespectful of my sons. It's not a good time to be the mother of soldiers.

Storyteller

when the darkness hides his face
it’s then he tells the tales
of opening up the massive graves
of those killed in the first Gulf War

the baby skeletons are the ones
that get to him the most
he tells about fragile bones
voice cracking on the words

that tell of how they found the graves
and how they dug them out
backhoes scooping out the earth
because it takes too long by hand

to dig up four thousand buried bodies
under hot Iraqi sun
we stood there by the bones he says
while people came to search

to find their missing relatives--
uncle, father, brother, son
aunt and mother, daughter, too
all mixed and mingled in the sand

he never tells too much at once
it takes a while to hear it all
a tale no man should have to tell
but all men need to hear

-----------------------------------------

Mother’s Anthem

I am just his mother
I cannot tell him what to do
Now that he’s a grown man
With his own life and will
the duty he has chosen
is one he must fulfill

To defend his country
Right or wrong
keep it safe and keep it strong
I am just his mother
Who can blame me if I cry
Inside each night with fear
At what my son has seen
In his thirty-two years

Someone has to do it,
That is what he says
Someone has to be there
Someone has to fight the fight
why must it be my son, I cry
I am just his mother
And yes, I swell with pride
When I see him standing proud
In his uniform of military might

He is just another soldier
Like the thousands gone before
I am just his mother
And I am tired of war

Worries

I suppose that reading this blog a person might think I live a life without worry. I write about the good things in my life, the little joys that make up my days, the deep peace of country living, the awareness of the world around me.

I have problems, like anyone else. The ongoing war makes my stomach sick and tight. With two sons in the military, I live each day with the knowledge they may be called to serve there. One has already been to Iraq, and well I remember the stress of that 15 months.

My father's death is still heavy in my heart, and so is my mother's. Losing both within a year was a shock I have yet to get over. I miss their voices the most, and still find myself thinking I need to call them--and then remember, they're not there.

Work has its own stress and worry. With the recent promotion came more duties that make the job challenging and full of unexpected twists. Suddenly I find myself third in line from the top, a place I never wanted to be. But here I am.

Being married to a Vietnam vet is no simple task. While I know that my husband does not have the deep problems of many others, there are days that are difficult to get through, especially when it rains. We cope. I know when to leave him be, and we get through the dark times.

My worries are less than they used to be. Life has gotten simpler in many ways. I know that I am fortunate. I have five sons, all healthy. I have a husband of 20 years, a large and loving family, many grandchildren. I have a good job and a home I love. I have other loves too-storytelling, writing, gardening. I am a lucky woman, and I am grateful for that.

That is why I write about the good things in my life. The worries are there--I give them a nod and glance of recognition, often a prayer, and go on about my day. They do not rule my life.

Worry might provide a few minor notes, but never the melody I sing.