Today I turn 35. For the first time in my life, I am not shocked to be here, still spinning on this precarious planet. I am not overwhelmed by the weight of my own mortality. I am not surprised to find that I have been given the gift of another year, as has always been my birthday reaction in the past. Instead I feel anchored more strongly to this world than ever. Despite the fact that most of my heart right now longs for what and who lies beyond. In the days since Abby and Maggie died, I feel as if I have walked through a swirling storm which is now right behind my back. I am standing on firm rock at the edge of a cliff, looking out over a new world, washed raw and bare. And everything is ahead of me. I am standing on the other side of terror. The worst that life can bring - because I can't tell you how many well-meaning people have felt the need to inform us that losing a child is the worst thing that can happen to a parent - has happened. We have held two dying … [Read more...] about the other side of fear
birthday
this is a love story
Today I will rise early. I will slip downstairs before anyone else stirs. I will open the front door slowly, without a creak. I will step out onto the dewy grass with bare feet. I will listen to bird song and tree wind. I will close my eyes and try to breathe. Tonight I will go to bed late. I will pull out the small box in the bottom drawer of my desk. I will read the sympathy cards, trace the edge of the picture, run the rosary beads between my fingers. I will whisper a prayer under my breath for a baby that was never born. I will be the one who remembers. . . . Tomorrow he will rise early. He will creak open the bedroom door to spy through the sliver. He will brighten when he catches our sleepy eyes. He will shuffle bare-footed to the bed and slip between us in the still-warm sheets. He will smile thank you when we sing a quiet happy birthday. At evening's end he will curl into bed with a new book and a gleaming baseball bat leaning on his nightstand, waiting for the … [Read more...] about this is a love story
the last day of one
It's time to switch him to 1%. The doctor's words echo in my ear as I stand in the cold rush of the open fridge door, shaking the half-empty carton of whole milk. It is the last one we will buy. . . . We're down to six diapers in each load, twice a week. Barely worth washing, but we remind ourselves we can't complain about a child who trains himself before two. Stacks of diapers now sit unused on the top shelf of his closet, crammed next to tubs of tiny onesies and plastic bottles. Every time I pull open the door to stash another neglected toy or outgrown outfit, I try not to wonder when - if - we'll pull them out again. What matters is this one is growing. . . . May I sit on your lap, please? He toddles over with a grin and I cannot resist a full sentence. So I scoop him up and he smiles while I write. Seconds later he shoves off in search of something more exciting. He's always leaving. . . . My husband hauls the changing table down from upstairs. It sits awkward and out of place … [Read more...] about the last day of one
when we all add up
31 + 31 + 3 + 1 He's obsessed with numbers now. All he wants to do is stand at his easel and scribble numerals in chalky pastel, then furrow his brow and punch the digits into his cash register. Adding and subtracting have transformed his small world into an explosion of equations. He begs us to fill up the chalkboard or the paper with long strings of numbers he can add together. Then he greets the familiar ones as old friends. 70...that's Papa's age. 22 is my favorite song on the CD. 50 is for 50 states. 28 is the date. This is how the world makes sense to him right now, at the still-small stage of 3.5. Neatly ordered by numbers, waiting to be added or subtracted at the touch of his fingers pounding the calculator keys. It's not my language - I love words and art and music - but I try to meet him there. (And try to remind myself as I struggle to scrape together interesting-enough equations to delight him dawn till dusk, that words and art and music sing with numbers all their … [Read more...] about when we all add up
