What do you consider has been your
most important piece of writing so far? Is
it a magazine article you wrote, the one an acquaintance sent you an email
about, telling you that her life had been so profoundly changed by what you
wrote, she clipped the article and has been carrying it around in her wallet? Is it a piece that you did for your local
paper on a current social issue that you found out was one of the elements
gathered by a community group to spark a local initiative to address the
situation? Is it your contribution to an
anthology like Hot Apple Cider that connected you with many fellow writers who
shared with you their identification with your situation? Is it a chapter in your Award Winning Book that
a new friend you met at a book signing told you enabled them to have a
completely new understanding of listening?
For me, although these kinds of encouragements have been great
affirmations of my ability to write, my most significant writing so far was
probably the hand written notes that I used to leave behind with the babysitter
when my husband and I were obliged to be away from our children for a few
days. I came to understand this last
week.
As my daughter and I sat chatting and
playing Scrabble together after we put her little one down for the night, she
said to me out of the blue, “Mom, I am so grateful for those notes that you
used to leave for us when we were kids and you had to go away.” “I hated it when you had to be away from us
and I loved reading your notes.” She has
been reflecting frequently about the things that we do as parents since her
little daughter was born nine months ago.
As I see my little granddaughter,
Sanna constantly seeking the smiling approval of her mother, I remember that
time just a few short years ago, when her mother looked up into my eyes with
the same seeking for assurance that I would care for her and all would be
well. It just keeps going round.
When my children were
young and I was preparing to be away from them for a few days, I would take
some time write them notes, seal them, address them and put them in envelopes
with the date marked on the envelope that the note was to be opened. There was at least one note for each day,
sometimes two – one for morning and one for evening. The notes reminded the children that their
Daddy and I were thinking of them. I
told them how important they were to us and how proud we were of them. I
tried to find a cartoon or a puzzle or something to entertain them to include
with my note. Interestingly, when I
mentioned these things to Elizabeth, she did not even remember the
trinkets. What meant the most to
Elizabeth were the words that I had written just for her, letting her know that
I was thinking about her.
There were times when I
used to think I was preparing these notes for me, to ease my own guilt about
leaving my children. That may have been
the case. I was unaware of the power of
my words to comfort and reassure my daughter of my love. I did not realize that by taking the time to
write these simple notes to my young children I was helping to solidify the most
important bonds that define my life today, those chords of love that link generation
to generation. This writing has had an impact and is being remembered. If these are criteria for the importance of
our writing, then these notes, perhaps insignificant to others, that have been
read only by my children qualify as my most important writing so far.
Winner of 2011 Word Guild Award |
Award of Merit 2009 Word Guild Award |
1 comment:
Thank you Eleanor for these very personal reflections from your experience as a thoughtful and caring mother.
As to your introductory question about our "most important" piece of writing: although perhaps rhetorical in the context of your article, at the moment I don't really know. However, the question causes me to think and review.
Yes, our words do have power. May they be used -- as your loving words were -- for wholesome encouragement, comfort, and affirmation in all that's good.
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