Christmas Eve, 2012

Well, it's not much of a white Christmas here in Pittsburgh--more like a wet Christmas. Still, the rain tapping on the roof and the crackle of the fire in the fireplace is calming. Jack is 'nestled all snug in his bed' after a visit from Santa (a nearly 50-year-old neighborhood tradition), and John and I are lounging in flannel pants and oversized sweatshirts. My mom's santa collection peers out from every corner of the living room and family room. Her miniature Christmas trees host tiny glass and pewter ornaments, sparkling symbols of the season that give Jack hours of entertainment as he bats at them. The memory of her is strong and close-by. My Christmas wishes are so different now then they were five years ago. I wish for Jack to be safe and healthy and kind and confident and full of faith. I wish for him to never know the loss that I know. I wish for time to spend with the people I love, for meaningful conversations and nothing to regret. I wish for everyone around me to be spared pain and grief and loneliness. I have on-going conversations with my mom in my mind. We talk about trivial things like our nails and the Golden Globe nominations and where we want to vacation next; we talk about important things like gun control and the educational system in this country and raising Jack. At Christmastime, among other profound revelations, I marvel at the truth that a tiny baby, even smaller and more helpless than Jack is right now, is the key to everything. And if God could sacrifice his only Son because he loved ME, he cares enough to walk next to me through this Christmas and every other one that I will celebrate without Mom. Mom sent out more Christmas cards than anyone I know. How did she do it all? These days, with Jack trying to scribble his own messages on my envelopes, I haven't even sent all of mine out yet. This simple wish will have to suffice. Merry Christmas, friends and loved-ones. May peace and joy reign in your hearts.

39 Years

Today would have been Mom and Dad's 39th Anniversary. I can just imagine their faces displaying such pure joy as they spoke the vows that carried them through the best and worst that life would bring. We remember.

love is more thicker than forget/ more thinner than recall/ more seldom than a wave is wet/ more frequent than to fail/ it is most mad and moonly/ and less it shall unbe/ than all the sea which only/ is deeper than the sea/ love is less always than to win/ less never than alive/ less bigger than the least begin/ less littler than forgive/ it is most sane and sunly/ and more it cannot die/ than all the sky which only/ is higher than the sky e.e.cummings

Happy Birthday, Mom.

We will not stop celebrating. Your birthday is still as real to me as if you were here on earth celebrating it, complete with lemon meringue pie and a pedicure or a vodka and cranberry and a game of Bananagrams. Would we celebrate in some extravaggant way or be content to take a walk or shop or see a movie? I've been reading the biography of Maud Montgomery--you know, the writer of my beloved Anne of Green Gables--and thinking a lot about the simplicity of time spent with a true kindred spirit. She writes,“I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens, but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.” If you were here, Mom, I would wish you a day of simple pleasures: crossword puzzles and word searches, iced tea with lemon, the perfect library book, new earrings, easy laughter. The longer I go on without you, the more I have to work at remembering the sound of your voice. Sometimes I have to concentrate to remember the inflection and the tone with which you spoke and commanded a room. Sometimes it takes a moment before I can feel your whisper on my cheek as you calmed me down from whatever emotional roller coaster I was riding. But then I think about Dad and Grant and the way your strength and perseverance and fierce resolve is ingrained in them both. I think about Claire and how spunky and fearless she is. I smile as I consider Miles and the way he is really interested in people and what they are feeling, just as you were. I'm still figuring out the babies, but I'm sure that Jack and Hazel will reveal the qualities you left to them in time. You and I were kindred spirits, so I don't need to look far or think too long to realize that I carry you in my heart always and don't go through even a part of a day without you. And I know that what you would want for your birthday is for the rest of us to cultivate those simple pleasures and to laugh a lot and to live and breathe and bask in the goodness of the day. "here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)" --e.e.cummings

I miss you, Mom. I missed you when I looked at Jack today and saw his grin with one jagged little tooth poking through. You and Jack would have been great friends. I missed you today when I hit "send" on the e-mail containing my curricula, six separate sex education programs for teens that I wrote and got copyrights for. You and I would have had many important conversations about the work I am doing now. I wish I had paid more attention when you were writing grants and working for Victory--I would have learned so much from you on a professional level. I'm sorry that I didn't always pay close attention. I missed you today when I made a shopping and packing list for vacation--a vacation that we should be taking with you. I got the babies matching terry cloth rompers to wear over their bathing suits. Jack's is white and blue and green and Hazel's is white and blue and pink. I missed you today when I strolled through the farmer's market with Jack, feeling the sunshine kiss my shoulders. I bought zucchini and tomatoes--two things you loved--and imagined chopping them up in a bowl and smothering them with Ken's Light Caesar dressing and then enjoying the simple summer salad with you. I missed you in the middle of the night when Jack woke up 5 times because his teeth hurt. Everything seems worse in the middle of the night and there was no one to call and talk to. I missed you today when I got dressed for work and put on your earrings and your ring. I missed you when I stopped at Subway and got a Diet Coke. I know you told me I should stop drinking Diet Coke, but sometimes I can't help but indulge a guilty pleasure. I missed you today when I was trying to think of what to make for dinner and stumbled across a handwritten recipe you had carefully copied down onto a note card. I wish I could cook like you could. I can't believe that you've been gone for 723 days. I thought I would start to miss you less, but I miss you more.