Waves

"Time does restore us to our quiet joy in the spiritual presence of those we love, so that we learn to remember without pain, and to speak without choking up with tears. But all our lives we will be subject to sudden small reminders which will bring all the old loss back overwhelmingly."
--Elizabeth Watson


We've had a quiet holiday season, a conscious effort on our part. On Christmas eve, Maxwell came over for dinner with his girlfriend Annie. They were so generous with gifts to Felix. Among other things, Annie gave him a copy of "The Snowman," which we already have and love, but it felt like we made another connection in our mutual admiration for that sweet film. Maxwell gave Felix a Bob Dylan CD, a fun inside joke: a few weeks ago when I was taking Felix to school, a Dylan song was playing on KGLT. "I like this song, Mommy," he said, and I told him, "This is Bob Dylan, and he's a great musician." When I picked him up from school, the radio was on again. "Is this Bob Dylan?" Felix asked. When I answered that it was not, he said, "I wanna hear Bob Dylan!" So I took him home and played "Blood on the Tracks" for him.

Christmas Day, we opened our presents, with Felix delighting in every gift but having even more fun ripping open packages. After we were done, a tidal wave of grief knocked me down.

I cried my eyes out in my room. Dan came upstairs and held me while I cried some more.

Then I went for an hour and a half walk, stopping at the Rocky Creek bridge. I sat and watched the creek ripple under ice floes between snowy banks. I closed my eyes and listened to its melodies.

Felix woke up sick this morning. Somehow it's soothing to know that he needs me. And the chickadees have found my bird feeder at last. Today, Elise's due date, they've brought me the gift of their presence.