5.13.2012

The first

Polka-dot ribbons resurface, having been buried in the bathroom drawer for a fantasized future of tying up pigtails.  We’re still finding medication notes taped to the inside of cabinet doors and sorting borrowed clothing that had been shared with smaller friends.  Her brother eats the rice cereal that was stocked in the pantry for the sister he'll never know.  Although it's the first Mother's Day without her, traces of her life, and the life we’d dreamed for her, remain.  
 
Last night Andy recalled the way her hair rolled into ringlets and fell around her face, the way, when she rested in his lap, the tight waves on the top of her head felt against his cheek.  Her curls, mimicking the double helix of the DNA that betrayed her, took no notice of her diagnosis, knew nothing of what the rest of her body dealt.  I admitted that I miss winding those curls around my finger too.  I miss looking at her face and trying to grab her eyes with mine, recognizing myself in their reflection.  Thinking about her, the air smelled sweet, as though reminiscing secreted physical properties into the dark evening around us.  We sat beside each other there, while memories of her rolled down our cheeks.
Parenthood, we've learned, comes with a tremendous responsibility to suffer the threat of things we neither understand nor can do a thing about.
So we do what we can do.  We give the boys kisses when words fail.  We plant our lips on their cheeks, heavy with all the messages we cannot verbalize.  We press our mouths to their foreheads, firm with our will for the best.  We give them all the kisses we can no longer give her. 
We have our share of blessings, without even counting past the first.
JEB

4 comments:

McKenna said...

"We plant our lips on their cheeks, heavy with all the messages we cannot verbalize." Sigh. There could not be a more true statement. I find myself doing this so often. When I can't talk without tears I just kiss the living children I'm surrounded by and hope they feel the love. I hope this Mother's Day passed as peacefully as it could for you.

Tiffany said...

Those boys and Celia are lucky to have you and Andy. I am lucky to know you too. I hope you had a kiss-filled Mother's Day. xoxo

Groves said...

We sat beside each other there, while memories of her rolled down our cheeks.

*****

Do not dry all your tears.
Wear the best of them,
they are your badge, even
as they dry.

{Groothuis}

*****

Parenthood, we've learned, comes with a tremendous responsibility to suffer the threat of things we neither understand nor can do a thing about.

*****

Listening, hearing, watching, sifting,

Cathy in Missouri

The Wendels said...

I hope when words fail both you and Andy, you find peace, strength, and acceptance in each others' kisses.