Waiting for them to call me to do a mammogram
The weight of the years has told them it’s time.
It is time.
“Welcome to the club!” She told me as I scheduled my exam. She repeated it a couple more times before hanging up. Thank you?
The weight of the years brings wisdom, and risk, to manage. Weighing the consequences of my actions, the consequences of no action, thinking about the future, feeling it is time to give back, to teach, to share the weight of my years
The weight usually does not come with a warm welcome, the folds around my center carry my weight of nurturing myself, my baby, allowing myself to be in the moment, to let go.
The weight comes in my hair as it does what only hair can do - weave its own style on my weighted head with new greys to sparkle and ends to fray left and right.
I sit with my legs in stretch pants, painted with spider webs to remind me of the wisdom I carry in these legs, the power I have to weave stories and catch vermin who may interrupt my path or that of my children, the web I spin every day, anew but with the same silk recycled and up cycled and a new beauty every day, a new shape, powered by my full and confident spirit, weighted in spirit and grounding.
My feet are solid on the ground, feeling the pain, the uncertainty, and also the knowing, of thousands of women who have sat here with that weight of emotion as they wait for a machine to scan their breasts and tell them it will all be okay.
Weighting.
JEO
01.04.2020
