Wingless Angels & Human Chains

Loggy Bear, that sweet little cub, standing at the edge of the ocean
(aka Sea World California) patiently waiting for Shamu. August 2004

A few years ago as I was putting Logan to bed he said, “You know, I think our friend Alane just might be an angel, but I don’t think she has the feather kind of wings, because I looked for evidence at her house; you know, a feather trail or a spare harp laying around, but I couldn’t find any and I’m pretty sure her dogs wouldn’t have eaten the feathers…they are the meat eating sort… so I think she must be one of those wingless angles, you know, unknown powers and all that, like X men.  You get what I’m saying, right mom?” I knew exactly what Logan meant. I have been a blessed girl to be surrounded by wingless angels. I have felt the feathery brush of their wispy wings at all hours, their brilliant presence has lit many a dark hour and their comforting frames have helped support the weight of my grief. They have shared both my burdens and my triumphs, stood beside me; a lifeguard.

One of the many versions of Batman (Logan's favorite)
This time; The Dark Night Jackson Hole, Wyoming 2009

Wingless angels Logan explained, are “Ordinary people who use the bathroom, (and it’s not like a golden toilet mom). They lose their cats, like chocolate donuts and want Iphones. They are like a superhero before he changes into his costume. Because remember mom, Clark Kent is still superman even when he’s taking out the garbage. He still wears the S, even if he spills milk on his shoes.” I am a believer in super heroes taking out the trash, engraved letters on chests (this might sting a little) and wings that fold into themselves like the tight petals of a rose, or the accordion pinions of a bat. 



Bat-a-man, is that chocolate on your face? Logan in yet another batman costume 2009

Growing up with four brothers means I never got to watch “My Little Pony” cartoons but rather “He Man” and “Thundercats” and being the mother to three sons means I can quote “The Avengers” verbatim. My boys love superhero movies, so as a rule, we see them all. This summer we watched “Iron Man 3” together (me cowering in my seat during the intense parts). In the movie there is a scene where an airplane is ripped apart and people are falling from the sky, I don’t remember the exact details as the synapses of my brain that are suppose to retain that memory and blip it to my frontal lobe are currently clogged with popcorn butter. Of course Iron Man wants to rescue everyone, but realizes he can’t reach all the passengers by himself, or carry them individually to safety. So what does he do? He accepts he can’t do it alone and grabs the nearest soul telling that person to reach out for another person. She grabs his hand, and together the disjointed flailing bodies connect like paper dolls; two become three, and three four until all the passengers are reached, connected and lowered to the water unharmed...until a piece of the airplane falls on them…or a shark eats them, or they dropped out of swimming lessons when they were six…. or CRAMP! (Can you tell I am the mother to autistic children and have been hit by the twisted steel carnage of a broken airplane as it's fallen out of a seemingly empty sky before?) Simmer down! It's a super hero movie, so all you see is Iron Man rising from the cusp of the waves to go save someone else. And all you feel is emotionally spooned, content to believe airplanes can be ripped apart and people can fall haphazardly to the earth, but life can still have a happy ending.



Three Little Cubs, and one large whale. Sea World San Diego, (favorite spot of my boys) August 2004

I have been hooked on the idea of human chains; the image I see when I close my eyes, reminds me of Christmas construction paper chains, snowflakes and paper dolls. I remember my mom teaching me you had to fold the paper into phyllo layers, to get the same, repetitive shape to emerge without blemish.  And not to oversimplify the creation of humanity, but to some degree, I believe we as human beings are intricately cut into patterns, each person mimicking another.  And while we all maintain our individuality; our own unique talents, strengths and struggles; we are all created in the same image. Like paper dolls, stretched out like an accordion, we are all at our core, the same. And while we each have our own fears, anguish, heartaches and hopes; I’m convinced the only way any of us will make it through life is by linking arms with each other, holding tight and never letting go (I will be the one with the sweaty palms). In our moments of falling, (we all have them) in those terrifying seconds lost in the clouds, I don’t think we will be agonizing over our differences or disagreements,  but rather hoping for something to grab onto; A human chain. A wingless (or, truthfully at that moment, winged would be preferable) angel hovering safely nearby. A link to survival.

For human chains to be successful there’s no room for judgment (as if I’m going to link arms with someone who wears white pants after Labor Day???!!!) or anger (little bit closer, little bit closer …. Teeny bit, almost there…BAM! Fist in the face!) Paper is delicate, it rips easily, and scotch tape is never where it’s supposed to be.  I’ve learned it’s important to be gentle in our folding and shaping, merciful in our reaching.  

Alex and Spencer holding Sea Stars from the tide pools in Sea World, July 2004

My boys love the ocean and when they were little, we used to spend hours on the beaches of San Diego scowering the shores for tide pools to explore. On La Jolla beach, we’d always find these deep pockets in the earth that contained a whole world in a puddle. My boys would stretch on their bellies, slide up to the edge of wonder to dip their hands in the water; grab at a crab, finger the smooth skin of rocks, they were at once enchanted. But I’d get distracted by the disconnected kelp floating in the hollow cavities, and all hopped up on Disney movies I confess I imagined the single crab my boys were poking at felt utterly alone without hope of ever seeing his crab family again (or, dare he even breath the wish of his love interest? Baby crablings of his own?) I imagine in his world of survival his greatest hope was for a bite of krill. I would watch him and feel frustrated he didn’t realize that fifteen feet away was the Ocean…the freaking, wave crashing, covering the majority of the earth ocean.  He wasn’t alone at all, just temporarily displaced.




Alex & Spencer practicing their balancing act, San Diego 2004

 

It makes me sad to think of all the times I struggled through a low tide, where the rhythmic pull of life had drawn me apart, deposited me in some crevice, exposed my bare bones to the unforgiving sun.  And the whole time I’d thrashed, unhinged, waiting like a corpse for the tide, there was the ocean not fifteen feet away. If I would have stopped freaking out and been still, I could have heard the waves crashing into the shore, felt the salty spray heavy like unshed tears, realized relief was near.

Spencer and his side kick, the bear, showing off a captured teeny crab...
(notice Spencer's missing glasses: something else dragged out with the tide)  San Diego 2009

I know having the courage to be vulnerable and the tenacity to raise my head and claw like mad at the earth has helped me emerge and connect with people who at one point thought they too were the only ones stuck in a fractured spot. We’ve bonded over chocolate cake; laughed and cried over time spent in a fissure. We’ve drawn strength from each other, grateful to have learned the ocean is waiting for our return; teeming with life, help, alliance, and camaraderie; it’s all there.  No one needs to be a potential Disney crab.  



Spencer & Logan checking out the crab Spencer just caught. La Jolla Beach, California April 2009

For a girl who loves words I have none to express my gratitude for the ocean of support that washes over me each day. I’m afraid sometimes the weight of my angst is like cardstock to everybody else’s delicate dollies, you can see the creases in my folds, there is nothing graceful in my form, (I console myself that at Staples Office Supply I would be sold for a premium price based solely on the weight and sheen –a fancy word for sweat- of my paper grade). No, our chains don’t match; I have been linked in haphazardly, but thank you for finding the tape, and tucking me into your fold.

To the angels in my life; the way you have wrapped your velvety wings around me, a downy cape to cushion the blows of mortality, has inspired me to read up on the aquisition of  superpowers, (I’m stuck between traditional radiation or something quick like a spider bite). The strength of your example has taken root in this sloshing soul of mine and become a source of longing; a need I have to reach your reaching as you have reached mine. So look for me the next time you find yourself in a free fall. I’ll be there, sweaty palmed, holding the duct tape.     

 

Love those boys! Sea World San Diego 2004