Die Walkure

We have a real penchant for Wagner's Ring Cycle. Whenever we can, we find a performance of it somewhere and go there -- spending a week reveling in music, drama, timeless archetypes and rubbing elbows with fellow crazies.

This past summer we took our three daughters to Seattle to partake of The Seattle Opera Company's version of Der Ring des Niebelingen. It was fantastic! I mean, really. Fantastic!

And if you know anything about the Ring you probably know about Die Walkure : or The Valkyrie. Those 9 warrior daughters of Wotan who fly about the skies on winged horses singing Hojotojo and making fabulous music with "their" overture.

Imagine our delight when our eldest daughter presented us with these three drawings upon our return home!

Sometimes I wish I could take credit for the creativity and absolute fabulousness of my kids. Other times I just revel in their existence!

Time flies.

Pretty amazing.... to be able to spend a weekend with your grown kids... celebrating the 21st birthday of your youngest... and to be overwhelmed with gratitude and love.

What a world.

(left to right: Molly (23), Anna (21 for one more month), Susan(just 21)

Life is Liminal Space.

liminal |ˈlimənl|
adjective
1 of or relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
2 occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.

Maybe it seems odd to think of one's daily life as a constantly occupying a threshold space, or that it is always transitional. But for me, today, that works.

We are losing a young friend today. Her family has made the decision to discontinue life support (unless there is a miraculous change in status) and as a loving family group all surrounding Lawson in this moment, they will say goodbye. Liminal space.

Those of us outside that inner circle, who have loved this family and this girl at some point in our connected pasts also stand in awe of the tragic loss, and the hope for something else, and the visceral clutch of mortality in our own guts. Liminal space.

Saturday my youngest child turns 21. Our baby. A full grown adult. Parenting job done. Parenting job never done. Liminal space.
This is our daughter Susan. Welcome her into the world of adults. Happy Birthday Susan, I couldn't be more proud of you.

The young in pain.

My daughter just called. The one who lives in Seattle - 3,000 miles away. She said that a friend of hers was just disconnected from life support. Thursday night this friend took too many pills, then called my daughter. They were on the phone till the friend fell asleep. My daughter called everyone she knew who knew the girl, hoping someone would pick up and go find her. It was the middle of the night on the east coast, and no one picked up. She had no idea where her friend was. My daughter didn't sleep much, and then the next day she found out about her friend: in the hospital, in a coma.

And today she died. She was 21.

My daughter called sobbing. Telling me it was all her fault. That she didn't call the right people, she should have called the police. That she should have done something. My heart broke. Shattered in pieces. For her friend. For her. For the parents. For us all.

And my daughter is 3000 miles away. Growing up. With grief. With pain. Without me near. I remember the days of kissing away the hurt, and brushing away the fear. Now I just hope she will keep talking, keep calling, keep reaching out.

And, I hope that in Seattle there is an adult who will be there for my child. To console her. Let her know it isn't her fault. That she's not alone. That she doesn't need to do anything dramatic. Just cry. Be sad. But keep talking.