It is Sunday late afternoon and I am looking out over my yard. I can hear a catbird and I think the Newton’s have opened their pool because kids are playing in their backyard. Usually they are all in the Lemme’s yard playing something, but right now they are screaming it’s cold; definitely an indication that the pool is open.
The sun is shining on the backyard, a slice across the center hitting some of the roses and landing on the back end of the quince which is now got maybe 10 bright pink blossoms left on it. It is thick and dark and the sun penetrates in single places occasionally lighting up a blossom. On the back part of the grey fence white roses bloom. I don’t see them as individual roses, I see them as blots of bright white. Spider webs have formed all through the pine tree and when the sun hits just right they glisten. I guess they are providing food for all those birds. I wish I could paint the sounds of my backyard. A robin, a pair of cardinals, a tanager, a mockingbird, chickadees, and catbirds are all talking at once. I haven’t heard the woodpecker in a while, nor have I seen a hawk on the tree, but it’s still a little early for that. That tends to happen in late July. Oh there are several pairs of swallows around, too.
I found baby robin eggs on the ground, they had hatched, their eggs thrown out of the nest. I hear the babies, too, but I cannot find that nest. There is a nest in the forsythia bush, but it isn’t a robin’s nest, it’s more basket looking than a robin’s next. The foliage is so thick though there is no way to see what is hanging up in those trees. The catbirds are eating the left over watermelon. And there is a jay looking bird, maybe the female, what does a female blue jay look like?
Yes, the pool is open. Someone just jumped in. Summer is here. This is only a week early. This has been one of the most wonderful springs that I can remember. I feel so blessed by this light, this green, the way the light shines through the green maple leaves and the sounds. There’s papa robin.
I await news on Mom. She is back in the hospital with another infection. As Geoff said today, these are the most conflicting feelings, on one hand one can’t imagine life without her, on the other, none of us want her to suffer, she does not deserve to suffer. Ok God, take her, but don’t let her suffer. 5 out of the 6 of us are here with her. Mike is reachable, and they communicate differently anyway. He’s with her. She knows that.
And yet, the depth of my personal feelings is unbearable. Grief is the ghost inside my being. Ok now Chippy is coming to get some watermelon, hmmmmmm.
I think it would be easier to be sick to my stomach than to feel this unidentified stab in my gut.
Have I ever told you about my Dad?
Yesterday I went to a little memorial service for all who have passed. It was sweet. It was gentle and small and kind and it touched all. My tears were too far down to come up. I watched my new 3 year old friend play. She was so cute, she came running up to me. I was sitting on the bench that honors Matt Leighton in the Energy Park. It was a three year old greeting, joyful, physical, and then back to her Moms and then back to me. She showed me the art work she did at the craft tables and she stayed near me through most of the service. When it came time to release the butterflies, those facilitatin let the little ones do it. I went up to try to help them, they were a little tentative, both the children and the butterflies. One painted lady climbed onto my finger and sat there for a good long time. I tried to pass her to a kid, but it made them too nervous.
Emma was not with me. I had guilt about her not being with me. She would never have been tentative in that situation, she was handling butterflies by 2. Her feelings were hurt that I didn’t bring her with me, but I needed to be alone and to recognize that stab, that awful persistent stab that I have been feeling since I was in the 2nd grade. Grandpa Whiton died when I was in the 2nd grade. It made me very sad and I remember being mad that they wouldn’t let me go through the funeral process with the family, I stayed at home with Lena. I read some story in my reader about Grandpa and it made me cry and my teacher was very kind to me, I remember she held me. It’s the only time I remember any affection from a teacher.
But the stab did not become indelible until 1972. I lost too much then and although I still believe it has made me the compassionate and warm person that I am, it is when the stab began.
Have I ever told you about my father?
