I opened the windows today – the fresh air rushing in like a cat that’s been waiting all day to get inside. The scent reminded me of what’s good about Springtime, and I forgot my woes for a while.
I vacuumed the floors and washed a few windows before I had to head off to work. I even spent some time helping to weed a friend’s garden, even though my stuff still needs tending. I don’t know what my priorities are lately. I’ve been flitting around in the vast wilds of my mind, trying to keep abreast of my grief, but I remain unsuccessful.
My son writes an email, asking for a nice picture of the both of us he can frame for Mother’s Day, and I tear up reading the note. ‘No, honey, we have no recent pictures. I’ll have to come visit you and we can have one taken then.’ The reply seems to echo through a thousand years. That’s how long it feels like we’ve been apart. It’s not about time, it’s about distance. You won’t make it home this weekend, and don’t know when you’ll be able to visit.
You’re further away from me than the moon, I think – the moon which occupies nearly the same space in the sky, and moves in predictable cycles. Remember how I used to say “I love you to the moon and back”, and you’d repeat it in your sweet, tender child’s voice? You’ve long lost that high-pitched timbre. You’re a man now. You’re a man who’s on your way in this world, and my job is done. The rest is ‘icing on the cake’, I’ve heard said, but I still love you more than pumpkin pie, and I hope you still love me more than chocolate.
© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.