Fireflies

I love the way my memories return when I witness him make his own.

I remember when lightning bugs signaled summer curfew drawing near, and the way their bright tail ends made sparkly “engagement rings.”  Did you catch fireflies as a child, too?

If you marry in June you’re a bride all your life*

We have been together longer than we haven’t.  Nine years ago we began keeping our toothbrushes in the same jar and our pillows on the same bed.  But it was eight years before that when we started holding hands and sneaking kisses.  Then, we spent a lot of time looking at each other.  Now, we spend most of it looking in a shared direction.

Our marriage vows, and the genetic mingling of the two of us, molded us into a little family, a trio, and then more.  He alone shares my particular parcel of pain from the different shape of our family created by her illness, just as, together, we've been graced as a settling down place for our fair share of happiness.  We don’t speak our understanding aloud very often. We don’t need to.  He’s good at knowing how I feel before I know how I feel.  He somehow grounds yet lifts me.  With him is a lovely place to be.
JEB

* lyrics from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
Photo credit: Ciro Photography

Google doesn't have all the answers.

I lean over, holding my breath while I listen for hers.  Bee stung lips make barely a quarter moon on her delicate face.  I look down at her with tears in my eyes and all the love in my broken heart.  The gentle hillock of her cheek has given way to a cheekbone no longer buried under baby fat.  Her face holds contours yet to be formed, over time she does not have. 

I still wonder what she might have grown up to look like, how she might have spent more days.  I wonder about the minutiae, mostly.  Would she have always liked dogs, to dance, pizza for dinner.  What about shaving her legs, shopping for school clothes and bathing suits, what about sleepovers and hair straightening techniques.  I wonder about these and thousands of other things, questions to which we’ll never know the answers, and questions I may someday not even permit myself to ask.  I do not, however, question our fortune to have this time with her. 

I wonder what Tucker will be when he grows up, whether he'll do well in school, find love, have children.  I look forward to finding out.  I'm afraid Celia seems to recede in size and substance next to her larger-than-life little brother.  There is only one certainty with this disease that is mysterious, and that is that she will pass far short of promise.
JEB

Gratuitous

Grandpa Rod retired this week.  He wouldn't have wanted an extravagant celebration, so we ate hot dogs for dinner and played at the park.  It was a fun evening, and we have a surplus of snapshots to show for it.

Garden of Eatin'

Tuck could journal his activities with "My do it"s and "No, no, no"s.
And the occasional "Fank you" or "Hold me" or "I love you."
He does journal his adventures through grass-stained knees, dirty fingernails, bruised shins, and skinned elbows.
And frequently with food leftover on his shirt.
JEB

Almost Irresistible

He jumps off the side of the pool until it's time to go home.  "Last time," we say, before he soars and splashes.
He chooses two or three books at bedtime and, right before lights out, we remind him, "Last book."
He throws pennies into the fountain and, our pockets entirely empty, we explain, "Last coin."
He climbs the stool to reach the candy bowl, having climbed it for the same purpose minutes earlier.  "Last handful," Grandma advises.

He invents a game that involves putting his beez over your head and letting him find you.  "Last time," I smile and submit.

And then he suggests: "How about last time again?"

JEB

(Hug)

She's in my lap when he pauses to hug her, gently, from behind, and even though she can’t squeeze back it makes her happy and, to him, that counts.
I watch them and, while he stands on my toes and she rests in my arms, I sense my own heart beating in three bodies at once.
JEB