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Mar. 28th, 2026 02:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timeletsFor many years, I meditated using the Serenity Prayer without really thinking through what _serenity_ actually was. I kind of knew what the dictionary meaning of the word was. Also, I could relate to typical dictionary examples explaining it: sitting on a secluded beach and watching the waves; staring into a moonless night sky, with the Milky Way thinly stretched and partially torn by darkness. But only after my mom passed away I discovered in my childhood memories what serenity could feel like in my own life.
During the first few months after her death, memories of the past began flooding in. Suddenly, I remembered lots of different slabs or layers of time, both good and bad. Because of their association with a recent death, they were not enjoyable, but satisfying nevertheless. They were bringing the sense of closure to the end of life of someone who I realized I loved dearly. Of course, in a medical sense her death was not unexpected . We all knew that she's getting really old and the death would bring relief to her age-related suffering. But that expectation didn't stimulate memories, especially the good ones. Everything that surrounded the dying person was wrapped in care and mindless routine partially designed to squeeze out the dread of the coming death, partially to prevent yourself from mentioning it to her by accident — when you think about someone dying every day unwelcome words eventually roll off your tongue.
Anyways, a while after the funeral, I remembered some early summer days, right after the start of school vacations when thousands of daisies seemed to rush into bloom behind our house. As a kid, I was mostly indifferent to flowers. Why would a boy growing up on a military base care about flowers? Tanks, guns, ammo for sure. But flowers? Although, daisies were a tiny bit different because you could use them for guessing: she loves me, she loves me not (at the time I had a secret crush on a girl from the 5Б class — Lilly C.). But my mom had a different and very practical use for daisies. She believed in their medicinal properties and would send me to collect the flowers, so that she could dry them out in the sun and store for the winter.
In the morning, I would land in the middle of a daisy patch, then start ripping off flower heads, sticking them into a bag; slowly one by one. Sometimes I'd play a guessing game, sometimes watch a bumblebee hovering next to me, sometimes pick up an ant and race it through my fingers. But eventually, I'd forget everything and just sit quietly among the daisies, enjoying the gentle sun, the soft early summer breeze, thinking of nothing, feeling ... At the time, I didn't realize that this very feeling had a special name – serenity.
Lord, grant me the Serenity
To accept things I cannot change,
The Courage to change things I can,
And the Wisdom to know the difference.
During the first few months after her death, memories of the past began flooding in. Suddenly, I remembered lots of different slabs or layers of time, both good and bad. Because of their association with a recent death, they were not enjoyable, but satisfying nevertheless. They were bringing the sense of closure to the end of life of someone who I realized I loved dearly. Of course, in a medical sense her death was not unexpected . We all knew that she's getting really old and the death would bring relief to her age-related suffering. But that expectation didn't stimulate memories, especially the good ones. Everything that surrounded the dying person was wrapped in care and mindless routine partially designed to squeeze out the dread of the coming death, partially to prevent yourself from mentioning it to her by accident — when you think about someone dying every day unwelcome words eventually roll off your tongue.
Anyways, a while after the funeral, I remembered some early summer days, right after the start of school vacations when thousands of daisies seemed to rush into bloom behind our house. As a kid, I was mostly indifferent to flowers. Why would a boy growing up on a military base care about flowers? Tanks, guns, ammo for sure. But flowers? Although, daisies were a tiny bit different because you could use them for guessing: she loves me, she loves me not (at the time I had a secret crush on a girl from the 5Б class — Lilly C.). But my mom had a different and very practical use for daisies. She believed in their medicinal properties and would send me to collect the flowers, so that she could dry them out in the sun and store for the winter.
In the morning, I would land in the middle of a daisy patch, then start ripping off flower heads, sticking them into a bag; slowly one by one. Sometimes I'd play a guessing game, sometimes watch a bumblebee hovering next to me, sometimes pick up an ant and race it through my fingers. But eventually, I'd forget everything and just sit quietly among the daisies, enjoying the gentle sun, the soft early summer breeze, thinking of nothing, feeling ... At the time, I didn't realize that this very feeling had a special name – serenity.
Lord, grant me the Serenity
To accept things I cannot change,
The Courage to change things I can,
And the Wisdom to know the difference.
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Date: 2026-03-29 05:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-29 05:15 pm (UTC)