Identity: Posting #3

Presently, our world is experiencing so many tragic deaths from natural disasters, war, famine, disease and senseless violence. It seems rare for someone to die of natural causes    and perhaps more rare to die in one’s own bed with the loving care of family members. Both of my parent lived long, full, lives and were cared for at home until their last breath.

For 61 years 5 months and 16 days I could identify with the role of daughter. Being parentless does not leave me feeling orphaned. Instead, I feel accomplished, the role of daughter is complete. I am still a wife, a mother, a seeker of a deeper spiritual identity. I was blessed with two loving parents for a time and barring an unthinkable tragedy, I will leave behind two sons one day. I do wonder how they will identify me then and if they will feel orphaned or accomplished.

 

Musing: Recognition                   Excerpt from, ” Cutting the Clouds…”

 Identify Me

There is a tiny birthmark on my left foot about an inch above my little toe–just a dark dot about the size of the head of a pin. I see it every day when I bathe and I wonder if anyone else has noticed it.

In Haiti, a man on a big machine lifts the bloated bodies of earthquake victims into a trench for mass burial. Does the man wonder if one of these is his neighbor or perhaps even a relative? Is there a unique birthmark visible that could identify them? For these precious ones there will be no chance for identification. No burial with friends and family to share a memory, or pray a blessing or cry their grief into the funeral clothes of the loved one.

These thoughts make me want to show my birthmark to everyone I know, just in case, you know, to identify me.

© 2015 Bessie Adams Senette

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Bessie Senette

Bessie Senette is nine and a half months pregnant waiting on the birth of Cutting the Clouds: a Bayou Mystic’s Poems, Musings, and Imaginings – an autobiographical collection of poems and essays about the life and culture of her bayou upbringing and the spirituality that informs her traditional healing gifts. 
A high-spirited, creative, solemn, and above all joyous woman, she celebrates her birthday for the entire month of August, otherwise known as the Besstival. Anyone born in August is welcomed as a Besstivite. The High Feast day of the Besstival (Bessie’s actual birthday) is known as the Besstiva. 

When her Muse is not in the mood to muse, she cooks. Bessie’s home is an oasis of hospitality, and yet her husband, Tom, calls it a fortress of solitude. Somehow it works. She works as a supplemental grandmother and primary Mimsie to Eden and Noah, five grand pups and one cat. 
As an ordained minister, she officiates an ecumenical liturgy for a small congregation of like-minded and just “slightly” wacky folk who are lovingly referred to as the Bessbyterians. 
Bessie is a polydactyl poet, born with six toes on her left foot. Some of her friends think she should have a reality TV show but she insists that it would have to be an UnReality show. All are certain the ratings would be astronomical.

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