It is a glowing full moon. Magnificent. Powerful. I had to take her photo tonight, her light cutting through the darkness. I had to stop, really look at her, and thank her.
My mom always said try not to go to an emergency room when it’s a full moon. It will be packed. She was usually right about these things. I believe statistics might have even backed her up on this unusual “Phyllis fact.”
Today when my husband took my son to the ER on this full moon, there was hardly anyone there. Covid Times. Necessary restrictions. When I got to the hospital it felt like a ghost town. Plenty of ghosts, I am sure.
My son had emergency surgery today. An appendectomy. He is a strong young man, actually quite stoic. Mostly never really sick, knock wood. He’s travelled the world. Almost invincible. Then, out of the blue, without warning nor reason, he is struck with excruciating pain and rushed to an emergency surgery. How fortunate we are that he seems good tonight, though still in pain. How fortunate we are that it was not more serious, that it was caught in time, that there are committed and skillful medical practitioners in service to us. This could have happened as he travelled in a country that didn’t have medical care as good as what he received today.
Life is fragile. And it holds on.
It is a time like this when I must remember and revere life, even if it is damn hard sometimes, painful and confusing. It is a time when I must bow in humility to today’s blessing.
I often do rituals on the full moon or new moon. I revere the miracles of our great cosmos and life itself, with ceremony and gratitude.
Tonight, I ask Grandmother Moon, glowing and full, to watch over my son as he sleeps, and help him heal. She told me that she will. It was the anniversary of my mom’s passing this last week. I believe my son’s grandma, who loved him so so dearly, is watching over him as well.