The Archer

January 20, 2011

I am a Sagittarius, or at least I was before that professor decided that there were thirteen astrological signs, and I became an Ophiucus, whatever that is.  I have decided to remain a Sagittarius, in part because I have begun to visualize a particular metaphor regarding Jack.  The Sagittarius is also known as "The Archer," possessing the body of a horse, and the torso and head of a man.  He is always shown with a bow and arrow, and that is the crux of the metaphor.

I am intimately, inexorably, completely bonded with Jack.  It's no wonder.  Since the very beginning, it's been us against the world, or at least a very scary heart defect.  I stayed in his hospital room with him for weeks, and we're still together nearly 24/7.  While most of this is wonderful, I realized that I had convinced myself that by being with him all the time, I could protect him from any pain or ill.  I thought that if I stayed home with him I could ensure that no small warning sign would be missed.  If I obsessively monitored his oxygen saturations, breath rates and pulse, then no change in his heart function could ever progress to heart failure, or even heart attack.  But I was deluding myself.  I can no more protect Jack from every risk of hurt and fear than I can protect airplanes I see flying above my house by willing them to just stay up there.

I am but an archer, carrying a bow.  And Jack is the arrow in my quiver.  I have merely been entrusted with him.  By God, by the Universe, by the Fates.  He has been put in my care, but I do not own him.  I can't protect him from pain, bullies, or even heart failure.  All I can do is love him and prepare him as best as possible; drawing back the bow.  I can provide him food and shelter, and remind him frequently that he is loved and secure; further back I draw.  I can provide access to the best education and exposure to the arts, athletics and travel; aiming towards the Heavens.  And then, eventually, I have to release the bow.  Sending him out into the world.  Alone.   

Certainly, I have hopes for the path that the arrow will travel.  I have trained and researched the best way to shoot an arrow in the proper direction, and with the speed intended.  But here is where the metaphor must end.  Jack is not an arrow.  He will not always follow the path I have prepared and cleared and made safe for him.  Sometimes he will take a wrong turn, or someone or something will enter his path and cause him pain.  But all I can do is hope that I prepared the arrow in the best way I know how.  That I have made it strong and flexible, and able to fly far and strong.  And if not, if instead of soaring to his dreamed destination he falls short and crashes, what can I do?

I will pick him up, dust him off, and remind him that he is the strong, true, capable arrow that I spent a lifetime polishing.  But that the strength is inside, and it is intact, and he can fly again, confident that should he fall from the sky again, the Archer will be there to check his path and ready him to fly again. 

Love
Maggie