My too-long posts make my brothers eyes roll. (Which delights me no end. :) But his inevitable teasing aside, I wrote this about the words of comfort we offer to ones who are grieving...When recently I realized that these sentiments sometimes mean more than we think they do... We may feel like our words are little consolation to someones pain. ...But something someone said to me recently became an unexpected gift when I took it to heart. It was a little thing he said, but it changed me. And I was grateful. So I wanted to share. Forgive my loooong post :) I thought I had made better progress, yet found myself choking back the tears that still come when speaking of my parents and of how deeply I miss them. Get a grip, Naomi, I told myself. But some days were still difficult and I had been missing them so... He listened objectively but not without sympathy as I spoke and offered a fresh tissue to replace the crumbling, soggy remnant of the one I held. I supposed I should go, so I stood up to leave- making apologies for being such a killjoy- and thanking him for always lending a sympathetic ear. That he also happened to be a Doctor may have added to the perceived value of the kind words he offered then, as he gently put his hands on my shoulders and said,“They’re in you, you know, Naomi. His lovely comment went straight to my heart that day but also floated in the air as I left, hovering around me like a fragrance that I hadn’t sensed before but now wanted to inhale and memorize and believe to be real. Though not presented as medical fact- coming from a Doctor of Medicine made it seem more official somehow; like a shadow on an x-ray proving what had only moments before been just a theory; I wanted more than anything to accept his statement- or any part of it- as quite possibly true. I did not ask him to elaborate on what exactly he meant as I left that day. Instead I just shook my head affirmatively- as much to keep the tears from flowing over as to nod in grateful agreement. With cupped hands over heart, I managed a gesture meant to say that I would take his sentiment to heart and I blinked back all but a renegade tear- that clung momentarily to the thick bottom lashes inherited from my Father before traveling down the straight plane of the nose that was my Mother’s. Before I turned to go, this lone tear fell somewhere below, joining so many before it and as it did, I was able to whisper, “I know” through a sad but genuinely appreciative, quivering smile. It did seem a lovely premise, that my parents could somehow “live in me” so I chose not to analyze the Dr.s remark further that day or the next, knowing that doing so might render it an obvious fantasy or just a sympathetic comment offered as a band-aid to my broken heart. But I didn’t reject it either, instead allowing it to hover there… like the red balloon that followed the lost child, in a story read long ago by my Mother- who made every story come to life. I allowed the suggestion to float like the red balloon- somewhere just above, where it couldn’t be captured or analyzed but wouldn’t be dismissed... And so it did, and perhaps it was, when two weeks later I sat at a lively table of mostly teenagers and a flock of seagulls dove for crumbs where we sat by the bay on a late summer vacation. Surrounded by family, all a-glow with summer tans and back-lit by the sinking sun; glasses clinked and dinnertime chatter rose and fell as we cracked mounds of crabs and cleaned off cobs of sweet corn. This was the stuff of memories worth making- complete with a soundtrack of teenage giggles and the rise and fall of young voices- reviewing the day’s highlights and discussing plans for the rest of the evening. So with bellies full and tabs paid, we prepared to leave the restaurant and pushed our chairs away from messy tables with great effort, commenting on the food and rubbing our overstuffed middles, while happily licking our lips. And as we did, an expression came from absolutely nowhere and landed as softly as a balloon- in my mind, momentarily- before then exiting my mouth and floating in my voice on the bay breeze. It was not an expression that I had either looked for or thought of- since my Father had said it to us as children. It had laid dormant, for I didn’t recall him ever saying it to the grandkids- only—in my memory- to the three of us—my brother, my sister and I, in a time long ago that I thought of only in my sweetest dreams, now. “Let’s go kidlets.” I said. It was a little thing, but he had called us kidlets, and that’s who we were. Once upon a time. And for a moment, I wondered where in the blue blazes I had pulled that long ago expression from- here, this night, in the fading glow of the summer sun and as the moon rose over the bay. Ahhhh. I smiled then and of course, I knew. And so I breathed in the salty air and looked up above, but then realized I needn’t look any further than to where I stood. Because there I was. And so too, were they. Tucked safely in my heart but also able to float on the wind at just the very moment when a setting sun gives way to a silvery rising moon. And it was just as the Doctor had said. ~
Posted on: Tue, 26 Aug 2014 00:13:28 +0000
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