Today was better than yesterday.
Yesterday, two of our new baby chicks died,
and nothing I could do would save them.

(The above chick is not one of those. This one is still doing quite well.)

Helpless and heart broken,
and standing toe to toe with
the understanding
that some part of me
all of me
wants to believe
that I can save every broken thing,
that every broken thing can be healed,
that no one
no thing
is beyond redemption
beyond healing
so far lost
from a life
of little joys
and being loved.

I want to believe that.
It is what
keeps me going
what gives me hope
and lets me see
to the potential in every thing,
this looking past,
this recognition
of their sacred.

And so when faced
with
not being able to do
exactly that
when the forces of nature
remind me that
I am a part of them,
not so much a master of,
it…
it pulls me up short,
and calls into question
my whole world paradigm,
how I approach every
one and thing.

Because some people,
sometimes,
you just have to walk away
and
for your own sake
let go.

I have these
little shifts
often.
I can’t say I like them,
but wisdom
I’m finding
isn’t something
just handed to you.
Usually it’s something
you’d rather not learn at all,
but it brings with it
the compensation
of a bit more peace inside.

And that’s how the deaths of
two tiny baby chickens
and the two days trying to save
the lives deemed extras
had me bawling my heart out.
Not just because
deaths of sweet little things
sucks and hurts
but also because
it forces me to face
the uncontrollable storm
that is life and death,
all over again.
I run into it
often
when my husband goes through
another round of chemo,
this illusion that
I can change the outcome
of all things,
that I can protect
this world and life,
this attachment to
needing to help
and fix
and make it better…
and control the outcome
to shield myself from
the gut-deep ache
that comes with loss.
It’s all too human,
and I know it.
So I let myself feel
and let myself learn,
holding up that
inner mirror and
looking into my own
inner eyes
and find a new choice:
do I come away from this
jaded and hardened,
and let fear of pain
dictate
how I see the world,
or do I choose
to love anyway?
Do I choose to risk
facing hurt and ache
and loss
and pain?

—

My calls are minor
compared to what some people are asked to do.
Nothing compared to what some are asked to do.
I feel silly writing it all out
like it’s some big deal
when there are people
afraid for their bodily well-being
as a result of no choosing of their own
and I am only grappling with
the consequences of my own choices.
It is hard to validate my own
little hurts
as worth acknowledging
when I know that
there are higher risk stakes
being dealt to others.
I feel
selfish and petty
sharing these words
writing them
instead of
remaining silent,
instead I worry I am
just adding
to the noise and chatter,
a voice that should
simply sit down
shut up
and let others
with greater sufferings
speak.

Something in that
makes me feel ill.
I don’t know yet
if it’s knowing how wrong it is
after being told
for no short time
to sit down and shut up
I am nobody
and not worth hearing,
or if it’s
guilt from speaking the truth
and not wanting to acknowledge
that I have no right
to be heard because of
privilege I was born with.

I have been struggling with
making peace with
these things lately.
Neither feels entirely true.
There has to be a balance somewhere,
there are voices
of my own making and learning
that no longer deserve to be heard.
There is a time and a place
I believe
to amplify through silence
and to speak my own words.
It’s a matter of
tact, compassion, and timing,
I think.