in your heaven

I wonder - how did you live without us? I am sure contentedly for a long time. But after the long nights of sleep, the days taking in breaths of fresh air, the endless moments of silence, the peace that comes with knowing that your babies have flown and are safe in their own nests, after all this - did you miss us? Did you miss having an infant to nurse at your breast? Did you miss hearing those first words, so misunderstood by others yet deeply understood by you? Did you miss the constant touch from wanting hands? Did you miss the longing for peace, the longing for quiet, the longing for sanity, the longing for sleep? Did you miss having so many children need you so much?

What did it feel like? If there was a hole in your heart, how did you fill it? With God? With food? With love? With regret? If there was a wound, did time heal it?

Sometimes I am consumed by the thought of you missing us. Sometimes the hole in my heart is filled with an image of you sitting in your heaven looking at all of us and not having to miss us anymore.

Drowning on dry land

The news is hitting me all at once like a tidal wave. My legs are weak and I have to hold onto something for support. I look for a chair and when I see one I stumble to it and sit down struggling to comprehend what my ears have just heard. What my eyes have just seen. I am vaguely aware that I am drowning. Water is filling up my lungs slowly so that breathing is becoming difficult. I feel like I am moving all of my limbs, but they are heavy like lead and it is not helping me to come to the top. There is noise all around me but it is like my ears are in a vacuum. I know there are children crying, machines beeping, possibly a lawn mower somewhere, but all I can hear is dead noise, a strange yet familiar humming that is filling my brain. I want to cry, but suddenly my eyes are so dry they hurt. I feel a need to scream out, but my mouth feels like it is filled with cotton. And sandpaper. I try to think a rationale thought, like what to do next, but it's like my mind has gone numb.

Although the words are always different - this is the feeling of shock. No matter what the words - all shock looks and feels the same. I remember it so well I can taste it. And it always tastes the same. Like old money smells. Briney and bitter. When it is over, you do not ever want to taste it again, but it is undeniable. You know that you will.

Months possibly years later I can remember the moments of shock vividly. Strangely, what I will not remember is what I was thinking right before the news hit me. I want desperately to remember this, but try as I might these thoughts are just out of reach. Was I so happy? Could I not believe how great things were going? Was I thankful that things were not worse? Who did I want to spend the rest of my life with? What was I craving?

I don't really think it will change anything, but I must feel everything now. I must remember everything precisely. There must be a careful account of every moment so that when I am drowning again I will be able to remember what it feels like right before you drown. If there is any comfort to be had I will bottle it. I will coat myself in the comfort of these thoughts so that it will soften the blow........Soften the blow of the next drowning.

You

Sometime after your bath you have crawled into the bed next to me. We are lying side by side. Our legs are touching ever so slightly so that if I didn't know you were next to me I don't think I could be sure by touch alone. I am in an old T-shirt and shorts that are far too loose. I think you are in a white strappy shirt that you love to wear to bed and when I open my eyes I will see that you are. I cannot feel your wet hair on me, but I can smell shampoo. I open my eyes and I turn just half a sliver - not wanting to break the glass that has encapsulated this perfect moment. I see you. The smooth, velvety skin on your arm is a dark, dark cocoa color and looks so beautiful next to your white shirt. Your skin reminds me of your dad. Your mind reminds me of me.

I say to you, "Did you have fun yesterday swimming?" You nod, but I can tell from your face - you are far, far away.

So, in the silence I confirm, "We all had fun."

You say with that delightfully whimsical smile of yours (the one I will have carved in my memory until I die - and then still),

"Yes, but I wanted to fly and I couldn't. My wings got all wet."

When these incredibly exotic words tumble so easily out of your innocent young mouth I wonder, Where is it exactly you travel when you go?

Because I so desperately want to go there, too.

four summers

your skin smells like water and strawberries.
your hair is slightly stiff and smells faintly of shampoo and a lot like river and sweat.
your feet are dark and dirty.
your hands are pruned from swimming.
your smile is a white spot on your dark face.

as i hold your beautiful face in my two hands i try to drink you in because i know this will not last long.

it is summer and i love you.

all four of you.

Where are you?

I am in a field of wild or volunteer sunflowers. They have not been planted, they have chosen to grow here. I can smell their scent. Not sweet like roses or gardenias, but rather fresh like fresh cut grass and rain. I am laying comfortably on my back on a pale blue and violet woven blanket that someone has spread. I can see a pale blue sky with thin white clouds. I listen intently for a voice, but I can only hear the sound of my own breathing. I am here in my mind while you are so close to me that you might be invading my soul. But, I don't know. It is too hard to tell from where I am.

Overcast

It is a dark dream. There is gray everywhere and it might be drizzling. I am swimming in some sort of channel and it smells like seaweed. I don't remember any dreams with scent. I remember him being in the dream, but I don't know if he is swimming with me or waiting for me. Because it is a dream I have my favorite pillow with me in the water. It is waterlogged and heavy. Strangely, I am clinging to it as if it is a treasure. Either my pillow or apprehension is dragging me down. I reach a point where there is a huge concrete form resembling a buried tower in the water. I sense that it is impassable. I know that the waters beyond this barrier deepen dangerously. I cannot see around the blockage because it is dark. In my dream I can make decisions easily and so I seamlessly decide to turn and get out of the water to remain safe. But, I notice that the edge of the channel type waterway in which I am swimming is lined with beautifully cut tiles that are a wonderfully rich shade of orange. They look slick and slippery from the water. I am eased somewhat to see a change in my drab surroundings yet nervous at what it could mean. Fortunately it is easy for me to get out of the water and I am relieved....except I drop my pillow. As I watch it swirl away into the deep waters I carefully go back down the slick tiled edge and attempt to reach and grab it. I remember briefly how much I love it and why. But, in the end I let it float away.

As I am floating out of this dream in between the subconscious and wakefulness trying groggily to prevent the unraveling of memory, I hear a voice. It says, "I had a nightmare." In my foggy mind I think, could you have been swimming in that channel with me? Did I let you go? Then I slowly open my eyes and I am hugely relieved to see and soak in your beautiful huge eyes staring frighteningly at me. I know that you are safe....for now.

Blueberry Pie - perfect for Father's Day and Fourth of July

It is a hot Michigan day. We have checked in at the front of the blueberry farm and my dad has given me my bucket. "Come back when your bucket is full," he told me. I am somewhere between the rows, sitting down joyfully pulling blueberries right off the vine and popping them in my mouth. The sweet juice fills my mouth as the skins are torn by my teeth. When I hear my dad somewhere - rows over - say, "Don't just sit there and eat them. Are you filling your bucket?" I guiltily lie and say, "Yes." Not knowing till years later that the tell-tale stains of lying are written all over my face.

4 cups of fresh blueberries
3/4 cup of sugar
5 tablespoons of cornstarch
3 tablespoons of lemon juice (fresh squeezed is the best)
1/4 teaspoon of salt
1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon
1 tablespoon of butter
2 nine inch pastry shells. One for the bottom and one for the lattice top. (Recipe will not follow because I use store-bought.)

Place one pastry shell in the bottom of a nine inch pie pan. Blueberries are some of the most fragile fruit, so spread them gently in the shell. Mix together the next five ingredients and then pour/spread this mixture over the blueberries. Cut the tablespoon of butter and place the pads evenly around the top. Carefully cut the other pastry shell into one inch wide strips. Place them one at a time over the top of the pie weaving in and out to form a lattice top for your pie. When my mother made blueberry pie she let me stand on a chair to do this part. Crimp the edges of the pie to form a thick crust. Before placing your pie in the oven, make sure you put it on a jelly roll pan. Blueberry pie is fabulous, but not when burned to the bottom of your oven. Bake 50-55 minutes (depending on the temperamental nature of your oven) at 375 degrees. Allow your pie to sit up for one hour before eating. Then serve it slightly warm with vanilla ice cream (preferably home made). Do not take your plate to the sink after eating because you are going to want seconds. Possibly thirds.