I is for I am. Therefore, I am.

NaBloPoMo Blog#432 Day 7

adoptIon, reunion, reform, reality*

There is a famous animation school at Sheridan College in Ontario. One of the driving forces behind the animation program died not too long ago.

I happened to come across his obituary in the paper. I don’t read the obits very often but every time I do there seems to be a life that touches me.

I liked what I read about this man, how many of his former students are “major players” in the field of animation. A former Sheridan animation student was nominated for an Academy Award for Bolt. He is the seventh Sheridan alumnus to receive an Academy Award nomination. A real accomplishment.  Definitely something to be proud of.   When you create something, it lives on in the world.  I’ve always thought that writing a book or producing a work of art is the closest a man will ever come to understanding what it’s like to have a baby.

There was a poem as part of the obituary.   It made me think of adoption.  I considered modifying it a bit  but I think the poet, Mary Frye, deserves my posting of the original.

Here it is:

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep

I am a thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glint on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight
I am the soft starlight of night

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die.

Despite what adoption tries to do, motherhood does not die.  Our love for our children, now grown adults, is always there whether our children, their adoptive parents, our own families or the rest of the world chooses to acknowledge it or not.

I am a thousand winds that blow

Peace

UM

* For new readers, I am working through the letters in these words as my writing prompts during NaBloPoMo.

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One Response to I is for I am. Therefore, I am.

  1. Laurie says:

    I love that poem. I read it at my grandmother’s funeral. I agree, it does suit the mothers who lost their children to adoption.

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