Petrified Wood

Petrified Wood. I am sick in love with it. Rocks of all kinds do this to me. It started when I was just a kid. My father collected rocks. One day, he picked up a brownish rock with white cracks and asked me if I knew what sort of rock it was. 

I sat befuddled. Finally admitted that all I knew was that it was a rock. 

"It has a name," he told me. "It is called a brown agate." He picked up another rock. "This one is a moss agate. This other one is a plain river rock. But, really....to those of us who know rocks....no rock is a plain anything." 

He mostly had simple rocks that he had collected from sides of roads and streams in West Virginia. But, he had a few special rocks. He kept these in his shed in the back yard. I learned all of their names. Amber. Brown agates. Citrine. Clear quartz. Golden topaz. Moss agate. I was especially drawn to the inky black Obsidians and the silky Tiger's eyes. My father sometimes let me help him polish them with a soft rag. He would hold one up to the light and then show me. One, a particularly beautiful yellow citrine, took my fancy. 

"Maybe one day I will cut it and have it put into a ring for you," he told me. 

He had a book that told of the properties of rocks. The clear quartz was good for making wishes. The pink quartz was lucky if you needed an extra dollar. He said that he wasn't sure if any of this was true, that frankly, he just thought that they were pretty. 

In any case, I became enamored with them. I think I liked it, too, because it was something special that I shared with my father. Like the constellations. I knew most of them by the time I was in first grade. The Great Dog. Orion. Leo. Ursa Major. Cygnus. Lyra.  My favorite, of course, was Gemini, the Twins. 

I was my father's chore buddy. Every Thursday was chore day. We would go for a ride to gas up the car, go to the bookstore, the hardware store, anywhere else where something was needed. I loved these days because I would tell my stories. They were called The Adventures of Me and Dad. And, boy howdy, I thought I could tell a story like nobody's business. The rule was that I would start it and then stop right at an interesting moment and then my father would tell the next part. He would then hand it back it to me and so on and so on. My parts of the stories were filled with menacing dragons and giant frogs. His always had the redeeming part. If I had a dragon threatening us, my father would step in and disarm the dragon with a magic song. If a giant appeared at Sunday dinner, my father would invite him in and it would turn out that the giant was actually an enchanted prince. Our stories were predictable. I see that now. But, oh...how I loved this time together. 

My father died when I was ten. After that, a lot of magic went out of my life. I began to forget the constellations. What use were they to me now? My mother, always busy, was now even busier. She had no time and no inclination to talk about constellations. I have a vivid memory of being a sophomore in high school and being on a hayrack ride with friends. We all lay on our backs looking at the sky. I recognized the W spread out by the stars in the night sky, but could not think of the constellation or the story behind it. I struggled to think of it and finally knew it to be Cassiopeia. Or, I thought it was. I wasn't sure anymore. Memory unused is so easily lost. I felt sick. So, I let myself drink some Boone's Farm wine and got drunk. It was easier than thinking about him too much. 

But, I never stopped loving rocks. I always carried one with me for luck. If a stone did not have a worry indentation, I made one with my constant rubbing of my thumb against it. Rocks simply comforted me. I could see my father holding one up to me and saying, "Just think what stories this rock could tell." 

Now, my home is filled with rocks. Friends know to bring me rocks and stones home from their vacations. My yard has rocks from all over the world. Jerusalem. Ireland. Kentucky. Germany. Uzbekistan. Colorado. Russia. Pennsylvania. Arizona. Texas. 

I have small bowls of stones in my home filled with regular river skimming rocks and gemstones. For Christmas this year, a dear friend sent me seven stones that she had cleaned with sea salt and laid out under two full moons to cleanse and charge them. I held them reverently in my hands. A yellow citrine caught my eye and seemed to pulse under my fingertips. I was bewitched. 

And then, in mid December, on a cold, cloudy day, I was tucked up in bed, sick and tired to the bone. I had just started my chemo for my third battle with cancer and I was just so tired. I was sad and aching all over. Life seemed too heavy to bear. So, I just sprawled in my bed, flat on my back and let the tears roll down my cheeks and into my ears. I heard the door bell ring. Sighed. Did not get up. 

An hour later, I slowly pulled my sad sack body out of the bed and went to see what was at the front door. There was a small bag attached to the door knob. I unhooked it and brought it in. A small card simply had my name on it. I opened it to find a pretty card with a shower spray of lilies on the front. On the inside it read:

Dear Aunt,

I was so sorry to hear that the cancer is back. I am gifting you this rock. Actually, it is petrified wood, but it FEELS like a rock to me. Whenever we visit your home, I always love how it is filled with such lovely stones. You have told me the names of so many of them! When my girls are born, I want them to learn to love rocks as you do. I hope that you will be here to help me teach them. I love you so much. I got this petrified wood on my husband's grandfather's land in North Nebraska. I hope it helps to heal you.

Love, Christi

Two weeks later, Christi gave birth to twin girls. When she brought me that petrified rock, she was massively pregnant and very uncomfortable. Yet, she took the time and energy to get that rock to me. That meant more to me than I can ever say. So, it sits by my bed. It sits next to the yellow citrine and a statue of the archangel Raphael that Lucy gave to me for Christmas. 

This kind of love, giving....reminds me of my father and how the simple talismans of healing and hope can re-energize a spirit that is flagging. 

I have such hope for this world.