Friday, June 18, 2010

6 months

Today, all day, I just kept thinking that I needed to find something to give you, something special. I know that if you were here I would have given you a little toy or something for your six month birthday. It would have probably been a fuzzy stuffed animal that you could put in your mouth or hold with your feet the way your sister did. How I would have loved to see your grabby little hands take it and grip your new discovery like you had just invented a touchable cloud. We would have celebrated today, Frost. Instead, I tried to block my anger at everything normal. I wanted to cry all day, but I didn't. I tried to smile at other's jokes. I was able to walk today, though at times I felt invisible. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts of you that I'm sure that no one else was able to see me.
I saw things too. There was a yellow balloon on the ceiling at work early this morning before many people were there. I noticed it. A little while later, I saw that it had gone to the floor. It's string only touched the ground while it floated above. It was as though someone had brought it down and was holding it. It hesitated near me. I stooped to pick it up and rested my hand on the loop where a child's hand should be. I imagined holding your tiny fingers, tickling them and calling you mine. I put the balloon in a space, if it is there tomorrow I will bring it home. If it is not, I will know that you had to go on.
Once again, a song has brought to me the words I need for you. I heard it this morning in the dark, driving. This happens quite a bit. I had heard this song before but not the same way. Today it was more

Frost, you did get a gift, do you know what it is? You got to be born again right away. I don't know where you were born again, maybe here, maybe heaven, maybe only in dreams, but you do have a new life. Many people spend their lives wishing they could do things over, wishing they could be young again, wishing they knew things before they happened, wishing to be born again. You, my baby, never have to wish this. I do. I wish that you could be born again from me. I wish that we could give this gift to eachother.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Barefoot on Wires

The storm woke me up from my nap this afternoon. It was strong and gray. It knocked against my window until I sat up. I decided to go downstairs and check the news to see what warnings were out about the weather. There were many warnings for many places. Floods, flash floods, winds, even the standard suggestion of a tornado. I watched out the window and hoped that the power didn't go out. If we loose power the basement floods, and I told God that the flood was just for you and that it can't happen again. The last time power went out it was in the middle of the night and I started to get angry and I cried out "no, no, no It's Frost's flood, you can't take that away!" and the power came back just in time. I was thankful then. The power only flashed today, it did not go out. I was thankful then.
The storm moved on, I waited. I tried to smudge away the red that was poison ivy dotting my knees. It didn't itch, it just burned. I waited. I read for a while, I've been reading quite a bit lately. About lives that never were, but could have been. I waited. I watched your sister read and get so excited about a story she knew but had never read herself. It was new to her even though the plot was very familiar. As she read each word off the page, I watched it become a piece of her. I waited. The sun came out and out I went.
I was waiting for the sun to come out. I sloshed through the water-logged yard to the back to the garden. I was barefoot and the water had collected itself in perfect little puddles in the grass. Clear water and grass cooled and cushioned my feet like little pillows filled with childhood memories. I looked around at what the storm had awakened. Birds. Birds were everywhere. On the telephone line above the garden several species perched and watched. Brown thrasher, cardinal, Robin,
Turtle doves (always in a pair), barn swallow, Mocking bird and Sparrow. I watched them too. I listened to the freshly clensed air. I heard a soft chirpping. I stepped to the bluebird house. The babies were inside, not bluebird babies but sparrow babies. The sparrow always beats the bluebird to the house every year. I listened to the babies calling to their parents, and then I heard a louder chirpping. The father bird was calling back to them and yeling at me at the same time. I realized I was making him uncomfortable, so I moved away. I looked up to the wire and it seemed that all of the birds were watching me. Some chirpped, some squawked, some whistled, some sang. Each had a different warning for me and assurance for their children. I knew that it was late spring and the babies were learning to fly. These birds were watching them, watching over their children, hoping for the best. I had interrupted. I thought about it for awhile, and I think they decided to allow me to watch. I watched and realized that the birds are different than humans in that they don't fawn over the choice of whether or not to have a baby. It is their only purpose, it is what they live for. It is why they have a dance, it is why they have a song, it is why they learn to hunt, it is why they build a nest. To have their babies, the birds sit and wait. They warm and protect. They do not have doctors. They fight off intruders and winds. They teach and feed. They let go. They loose babies every spring, eggs fall, cats strike, humans shoot. When you don't have a choice, does it still hurt? I think that it must, and they have passed down the pain through ages of song. I listen to the birds' song differently now, Frost.
Night, night Frost
mama loves you.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Behind the Curtains

I've always wondered what it would be like to be a ghost watching people. I remember pretending to do this at different times in my life. As a child I hid from the girls at my birthday party and waited for them to come looking for me. I watched them call my name from behind a building outside of our house. I waited and watched, I believed that they couldn't see me, I said words to them that I knew they would not hear. When they came close to my hiding spot I jumped out at them. There was excitement and laughter. This is a memory.
When I was a teenager, I remember watching a boy I liked through a window. He could not see me, he did not know I was there. I watched his gestures and movments. When he looked around his space, I imagined that he was looking for me. I said words to him that I knew he would not hear. I tried to make him believe the words that I whispered. I thought myself a ghost then and I felt that I could be happy just watching forever. This is a memory.
I sometimes find myself watching people I don't know and never will. I wonder if they feel the energy of my attention, or if it just glides past them like an empty breeze. Do they feel my eyes? I say words to them that I know they will not hear. Words that match the moment. If they look up I imagine that it is because of my thoughts. It might be.
When I get a prickle, when I get a feeling, I think about the way a ghost must watch. I turn my feeling into an action. I look around for shadows and lights. I say "hello" to nothing. I smile. I connect with the space. I let a sob escape. I let all of these things happen because just incase it is you watching, you saying words that I will never hear, I want you to know that your visit was not missed. I was there with you, Frost, when you were here with me.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Is This Where You Get To Play?

Sometimes I think God makes the sky so beautiful just to make up for all of the bad things.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.