An Alabama morning.

Little did I know of the many gifts Alabama would give me. I’d once been to the state before, when my dad rallied my mother to pull me out of high school for 2 weeks to drive from MA to Birmingham, AL, when I was 16 years old. That trip provided me with an opportunity to know my father better, a military man who at one point carried three jobs to support our family. He loved the south, & this trip allowed us to bond as a family, my parents, my brother, & me.

In a strange coincidence, in 2016, I’d return to Alabama for the birth of my son, & the beginning of my own family. Once our son was born, we stayed at a cottage on a lake, situated near Fort Rucker, a place fondly remembered for the many blessings found there.

Cottage on the lake, early morning.

Many mornings found me exhausted from being awake all hours of the night, rocking our newborn baby in my arms. At age 40, I felt vulnerable, no longer the 20-year-old who could pull all-nighters with little repercussion in grad school. Rather, I felt like a zombie, as I hit unimaginable levels of sleep deprivation, who still needed to care for this fragile little life.

The morning sun continues to climb.

There’s an eerie kind of quiet when you’re the only one awake during the wee hours. Our baby had significant reflux, so I was often anxious, okay… neurotically worried rather, about his choking on spit-up while sleeping. He had woken me before with a choking sound, which really freaked me out.

As a result, I’d hold him all night in my arms, just to be sure he was okay & breathing. I’d look at his perfect little features, as his tiny hand gripped my finger. When the sun started to greet the day, I’d sit on the screened-in porch, watching the changing colors of the sky, baby in my arms.

The Alabama sunset at the close of the day.

Each day there followed a similar routine. After visiting family for the majority of the daylight, we’d return to the cottage, looking forward to sunsets over the water. If I walked down to the dock beyond the cottage pictured, I could just soak in all of the colors, with an orchestra of crickets & birds adding to the experience. I’d look forward to a few stolen moments of quiet solitude before heading back into another night.

Moon over an Alabama lake, taken from the dock.

As the sun descended in the sky, I could watch a kaleidoscope of a sky changing colors before me, reflected over the mirror of a lake.

The beauty remains inexpressible. Water always calms me, lake or ocean. Even water features like the one at the farm that runs into the koi pond. With such dramatic changes in my life & identity, I appreciated having a place to disconnect. A place to just be me.

Spectacular sunset.

The colors of the sky reflected in the lake provided a magnificent display, morning & evening. And I developed a sense of feeling okay, that I might not screw up this gig of being a mom so badly. I was still me. I just needed to make room in my heart & brain, my soul, for the little boy who’d won me over. Things were going to be okay.

Darkness starts to descend again.

That Alabama lake reminds me of still moments of quiet, a peaceful solitude that signals all’s well in the world. Little would I know then why it would matter so much to me now, as another cosmic place of deep personal growth to revisit in my mind. I feel like I collect moments & places of synchronicity, where I experience the profound shudder of the beyond.

Having read Kate Chopin’s The Awakening as a young college girl, I think I feared losing myself in becoming a mother, not an uncommon feeling for many women I know. Especially women with careers. I felt a deep sense of relief from loving my son, from feeling connected to his life in a way that forced me to not place my own wants & needs first.

A deeper, truer love comes from sacrifice & selflessness. I found that during my time, dreaming in Alabama. Its profundity remains with me, each time I revisit that cottage & lake in my mind.

Another sun over an Alabama lake.