People think I am stronger than ever. But it’s simply not true. Sometimes horrible things happen, and the cards we are dealt are simply, the cards we are dealt. I wish I could cheat at cards, and could give myself 5 aces or a full house. I wish Nik had lived and that I had a finished barn and a white picket fence. I wish I had been given a different cross to bear.
The trick, I suppose, is accepting the hand, and getting out of bed in the morning and lacing up your shoes. Certainly, Velcro helps considerably, as does surrounding my self with family and friends. That, I suppose, is the true gift.
Today, gray skies cry rain and a wicked wind brings with it the scents of spring. The snow recedes revealing the rocks the snowplow dredged up. Everyday I move a wheelbarrow full back to the driveway where they belong. Daffodils push their green heads out from the muddy ground, whispering for warmth and sunshine so they can give birth to radiant yellow flowers that mirror the sun. The horses wallow in their bog, rolling in the dirt, playing tag and digging for the new shoots of grass that I can see if I look hard enough, splayed out on the ground on my knees, picking up the unwanted gravel so that the new grass can survive.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
What's My Worth?
Friends, what am I worth?
I had the kids over for dinner last night. It was an impromtu gathering. Shy, DaNae’s new room mate, loves pie, so I donned Nik’s apron, pretended to be Mom, and baked a blueberry pie.
The house smelled like warm pie and refried beans. Jenny brought over a bottle of wine, which everyone but me had a taste of. In the middle of dinner, Ryan called and asked if he could drop by.
When he stepped in the door, I demanded, take off your shirt. I want to see your tattoo. His girlfriend, tall, slender, blond, a perfect match for Ryan, smiled. He asked for some of Nik’s ashes, so that when he has the tattoo retouched, he can blend some of the ash into his flesh. DaNae grabbed Nik’s box and we scooped out a couple tablespoons of his gray ash.
DaNae and Ryan talked about old times, camping in the back yard and jumping through bon fires. I covered my ears. Her gang left laden with leftovers—beans, taco meat and the rest of the pie.
I gave Ryan the necklace I bought him over a year ago, saying, “You know, I got pissed at you and almost gave this away. But I decided to wait for you.” We both cried. When they left, he kept turning to give me one more hug. “You’re my other mother,” he said.
And that makes me feel worth plenty.
I had the kids over for dinner last night. It was an impromtu gathering. Shy, DaNae’s new room mate, loves pie, so I donned Nik’s apron, pretended to be Mom, and baked a blueberry pie.
The house smelled like warm pie and refried beans. Jenny brought over a bottle of wine, which everyone but me had a taste of. In the middle of dinner, Ryan called and asked if he could drop by.
When he stepped in the door, I demanded, take off your shirt. I want to see your tattoo. His girlfriend, tall, slender, blond, a perfect match for Ryan, smiled. He asked for some of Nik’s ashes, so that when he has the tattoo retouched, he can blend some of the ash into his flesh. DaNae grabbed Nik’s box and we scooped out a couple tablespoons of his gray ash.
DaNae and Ryan talked about old times, camping in the back yard and jumping through bon fires. I covered my ears. Her gang left laden with leftovers—beans, taco meat and the rest of the pie.
I gave Ryan the necklace I bought him over a year ago, saying, “You know, I got pissed at you and almost gave this away. But I decided to wait for you.” We both cried. When they left, he kept turning to give me one more hug. “You’re my other mother,” he said.
And that makes me feel worth plenty.
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