It snowed over the weekend. A lot. Sunday morning we got up, got ready for church, and drove through a winter wonderland. Branches that weeks ago wore brazen, ruffled reds and golds dressed for the day in minimalist white tunics with a tasteful shimmer of yellow and blue.
We did our usual thing. Church. Eat. Nap. Eat. Then we wrapped the girls in layers and ventured out into the dark and cold armed with glow sticks in hand. I felt like Max letting the tide deliver him to the island where Wild Things roam. Stepping across the snowy threshold of the white picket fence, I found our grove an enchanted forest and a royal rumpus about to begin!
Glow sticks were buried and dug up like treasure, their green, pink and blue light dancing like a grounded display of aurora borealis. The four of us threw snow like confetti, played hide and seek, did cartwheels and somersaults, lay down to find the "banana" moon framed in a web of branches above. All of it reflected in the crisply drawn shadows over the blank canvas of light, fluffy snow. A short, whimsical, monochromatic film.
For about twenty minutes there were no grown ups, only children. Delicious. Then the wind began to blow a little fiercer and we again took a cue from Max. We sailed back inside to the warmth and the light of the kitchen. And though no mother had left a tray with dinner waiting for us, The Daddy made us mini hot-fudge sundaes that proved wholly satisfactory.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
All is Well
The summer of 2010 brought the news that my dad had passed away. As one might imagine, this has been a bit of an experience and has brought along with it a brand new emotional learning curve. Aside from an obituary and a thank you note or two, I have done very little to record this event in my life. But below you will find, the short explanation of what I have found gentle (crazy though it sounds) about this piece of my life.
A letter for a later date:
Dear girls,
Once upon a time there was a little girl, whom you know as mommy, who had a wonderful daddy. He was good at telling stories and making spaghetti. He was creative and brave and kind. He was playful. And when he became a grandpa, he simply adored you.
Then another time, the wonderful daddy, whom you know as Grandpa, got lost. And nobody knew where he was. We asked for help and got it, but as there was nothing pointing towards foul play and no clues as to where Grandpa was....there was nothing to do but wait. And wait we did. Quietly. Months went by. I was hoping he would knock on our door one day with a smile and a big fat story. But he didn't.
We moved from Boston to a town in Connecticut. With this move came a yard (yay!) and a swing set (yay!) and beautiful windows (yay!).....and the news that Grandpa had left this world for now. Way up high in the mountains of my home Grandpa went for a drive, but his car had trouble and got stuck. He was far beyond the range of being able to call for help. He tried to walk back, but he had an accident. He fell. And Heavenly Father carefully helped him from this life to the next.
This thing that happened with Grandpa, the way he moved on from this life, was a mess for me. A disappointing, suffocating mess. It was just not the way I wanted things to go. But in retrospect, I see that even though this experience reaffirmed for me for the six thousandth time that I am not the Being in charge here, it also, once again, illuminated for me that all is, in point of fact, well.
A while ago, your Uncle Jon and I were talking about how this kind of thing can devastate a person's life. And how strange and wonderful it is that at the moment we are all doing a great deal more than surviving it. How this is possible is, I believe, a story we will each have to tell for ourselves. The synonpsis for me is embodied in tender mercies that appeared aplenty in the form of volunteers who kindly and solemnly carried a conclusion from the top of the mountain with them, a filthy new rental house that needed scrubbing, a piano that needed playing, kids who needed loving and a life that needed living. These gifts built upon a foundation of ideas that always point toward, and eventually carve out, calm, joy, and peace. As floors come clean and my fingers slowly remember the geography of black and white keys, insufficient thank-yous are shared and two girls grow and laugh and learn before my eyes, I can feel the sad gray sludge of regret and grief gradually melt out through my fingertips while something brighter, cleaner, and sweeter springs up within me. In the loss of my father, I find him restored, our relationship improved, and our love for each other very much alive.
I believe in a Heavenly Father that knows each soul perfectly. Personally. He knows Grandpa. He knows me. He knows you. And it is, in short, because of that, that I find that all with us is very, very well.
I love you,
Mama
A letter for a later date:
Dear girls,
Once upon a time there was a little girl, whom you know as mommy, who had a wonderful daddy. He was good at telling stories and making spaghetti. He was creative and brave and kind. He was playful. And when he became a grandpa, he simply adored you.
Then another time, the wonderful daddy, whom you know as Grandpa, got lost. And nobody knew where he was. We asked for help and got it, but as there was nothing pointing towards foul play and no clues as to where Grandpa was....there was nothing to do but wait. And wait we did. Quietly. Months went by. I was hoping he would knock on our door one day with a smile and a big fat story. But he didn't.
We moved from Boston to a town in Connecticut. With this move came a yard (yay!) and a swing set (yay!) and beautiful windows (yay!).....and the news that Grandpa had left this world for now. Way up high in the mountains of my home Grandpa went for a drive, but his car had trouble and got stuck. He was far beyond the range of being able to call for help. He tried to walk back, but he had an accident. He fell. And Heavenly Father carefully helped him from this life to the next.
This thing that happened with Grandpa, the way he moved on from this life, was a mess for me. A disappointing, suffocating mess. It was just not the way I wanted things to go. But in retrospect, I see that even though this experience reaffirmed for me for the six thousandth time that I am not the Being in charge here, it also, once again, illuminated for me that all is, in point of fact, well.
A while ago, your Uncle Jon and I were talking about how this kind of thing can devastate a person's life. And how strange and wonderful it is that at the moment we are all doing a great deal more than surviving it. How this is possible is, I believe, a story we will each have to tell for ourselves. The synonpsis for me is embodied in tender mercies that appeared aplenty in the form of volunteers who kindly and solemnly carried a conclusion from the top of the mountain with them, a filthy new rental house that needed scrubbing, a piano that needed playing, kids who needed loving and a life that needed living. These gifts built upon a foundation of ideas that always point toward, and eventually carve out, calm, joy, and peace. As floors come clean and my fingers slowly remember the geography of black and white keys, insufficient thank-yous are shared and two girls grow and laugh and learn before my eyes, I can feel the sad gray sludge of regret and grief gradually melt out through my fingertips while something brighter, cleaner, and sweeter springs up within me. In the loss of my father, I find him restored, our relationship improved, and our love for each other very much alive.
I believe in a Heavenly Father that knows each soul perfectly. Personally. He knows Grandpa. He knows me. He knows you. And it is, in short, because of that, that I find that all with us is very, very well.
I love you,
Mama
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