I need to be tucked in. I remember my mother tucking me into bed and I needed the sheets and blankets tucked in 'all the way around me.' It is funny now because my own kids didn't like to be tucked in that way. Annie would kick her way out of the tightest swaddle from the time she was four days old. I still like to feel tucked in. I wriggle my way into bed, with my side having perfect hospital corners, while his side is all a mess. I can turn just slightly so the blankets form an edge around me and I am tucked in. I even have an idea for a blanket edged in elastic so that when I'm on the couch I can have that feeling of being tucked in. Maybe that's already a thing.
I wonder what makes me crave that Tucked In feeling now. Perhaps it is the craziness of the world that I want to cut myself off from, to create a barrier between me and the rest of the upheaval. I want to feel like I'm in a quiet oasis in the midst of the chaos. Months after 9/11, I remember hearing the term Cocooning, which described what many were doing to insulate themselves against the world outside. People and families avoided travel, eating out, and outside entertainment, and even built rooms in their homes to provide for their own enjoyment. Now we have our own version of this cocooning called COVID. But I have to confess, there's a piece of it that makes me feel Tucked In. I need to create a nest, a retreat from this world for a while.
I remember a lot of things about 9/11. I remember I was with my young mothers' group at a little old school cafeteria in Cherry Hill having our morning coffee. The babies and toddlers were scattered in classrooms around us with various volunteers. Jay was in the 2-year-old room, Annie was with the babies, and I was 5 months pregnant with Matt. We were all talking and chatting when one of the girls' husbands (cause we were all still girls back then) called to tell her that things were not right. Little did we know how not right they were. It's odd now that I remember that innocence with a sense of nostalgia. We found a television somewhere and realized we needed to go home. We began to have a real sense of the urgency of the moment as we made our way to gather up the children and take them home. We began to panic as we turned on the tv and saw what was happening. It seemed like the longest day ever. That night I gathered with another group of women and one said to me, "You must feel awful bringing another child into this world." Her comment really hit me hard, it felt like someone slapped me in the face. It hurt too because so many people felt they could make comments about me having so many kids in such a short time. But this was worse, this was an accusation that I was inflicting something on my child. I wanted to believe that our world was better than that, better than what had happened, and better for the hope that mothers held in their hearts and passed on to their children. I wanted to hold onto that innocence. I did bring that baby into the world and then, a year later had another baby.
Yet, this past January 6, 2021, I repeated the same phrase I had heard all those years ago to those very babies! I texted my children saying, "I'm so sorry that this is the world you are living in." My kids immediately reminded me that my words were upsetting, as unsettling as the words I had heard so long ago. "Mom, don't say that!" they said. That was just what I needed to hear. I was giving up hope if I thought that I should apologize. It was almost another slap in the face to get yourself together! Don't give up hope! All is not lost! But it sure felt that way for a moment. Of course, now, after a few weeks have gone by, we feel like we can once again breathe without being bombarded by lies and arguments and violence. We can once again hope. We can once again feel encouraged that things are changing, are better, and are going to continue getting better. And I am so filled with hope by my children and other young people around me, around the world who are working to change the world and make things better for everyone. Amanda Gorman offered us quite a light to see by and a reminder to keep hope alive. What an amazing gift to our world! Think of it - those babies who were born right around 9/11 are preaching to us about the hope we need right now to face the future. Her words were a balm of hope and light and love for us and our nation.
So do I really need to be Tucked In right now? Yes. I'm teaching and it's hard. I'm raising young adults and it's hard. I'm trying to stay mentally and physically fit and it's hard. I'm trying to eat and breathe and feel and all of that is hard. I'm trying to get along with people who see things differently than I do and it's hard. While I'd love to tuck myself into bed and just get up when this is all over, I won't. I'll hold on to hope. I think what I'll tuck myself into, though, are the words of hope. The words of the poets, the words of poems and stories and good books and podcasts and music. Words of encouragement, of lifting up, of peace. Tucking myself into those feels so good. I can wrap them around me and feel the love.
