by | Sep 23, 2010 | 1 comment

I just went through your wallet again.  It felt especially strange when I got to your driver’s license which says, “organ donor” and when I got to your bank card.  Those are two things you would need and still have if you were just in hiding somewhere so this must be true.

I also found another fortune from a fortune cookie tucked in there that I’ve never seen: “Others find your charm irresistible.”  This is certainly true.  You were charming.

I have what are called “phantom kicks” in my belly lately at night- it feels exactly the way Audrey’s little kicks did and if I’m busy typing or doing something, I assume there is a baby in there without thinking.  When I was pregnant with A. I slept on my left side only because there’s some artery that makes it dangerous to sleep on your back or right side once you’re big.  It became such a habit that I still sleep only on my left side all night.  My arm often falls asleep and my ribs sometimes hurt.  I used to tell you about that.  You’d tell me just to sleep on my back.  You always thought that was the best way to sleep, but then you’d snore and I’d be waking you up all night asking you to roll over to your side.

The afternoon passed rather uneventfully- we had a genuine tea party with brownie bites and milk…Audrey got a few more packages in the mail.  She played with her new Legos while I put together a storage box from IKEA so we were both building stuff on the living room floor for a while.

After dinner we went outside to see if we could see Jupiter and it was also a full moon.  It was so cloudy we couldn’t see either as we walked towards the Hudson, but then I saw a tiny spot of light, and then just as we got to the river, the moon appeared from beneath the clouds.  It was full and had a reddish glow.  Jupiter wasn’t visible tonight and Audrey was a bit disappointed, but it was a warm night and we stood outside for a while.  “I love you Dan,” I said out loud because I felt so aware of being on this strange planet and could see for a moment the camera panning out, way out, until I became just a speck on the continent.  Is that how you see me?

I wish I could remember how it was before- who I was.  Everything is just so unrecognizable.  The quiet horror keeps creeping up on me.  Just when I feel I might be getting used to the idea, I am stunned, winded, shook awake to this reality.  You have drowned.  This is insane.  Of all the asinine things I worried about happening to you- this is how you go?  And this is the end for us?  Just like that.

On the path back to our building, there are short hedges on the sides.  Last winter or fall I discovered at the base of one of these, there is a little heart.  Natural or carved I’m not certain but I tend to err towards the belief that it’s natural.  I showed it to you remember Dan?  You liked it too.  Audrey was looking for it the past few days so we had to stop and see it again tonight.  It’s visible in the colder seasons, but at the beginning of the summer the landscapers had covered it over with mulch.  The other day, I brushed that aside with my foot.  The heart’s been under there all summer.


September 23, 2010

1 Comment

  1. Anne D

    That heart took my breath away.


Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You May Also Like…

List-making in a Dark Time

List-making in a Dark Time

For any other list-makers out there, I published this on HerStories yesterday.""In this time of quarantine, my lists are offering me space outside of the walls of my home, a way of making sense of chaos, a self-imposed structure on structure-less days, and even a way...

Simple Things

Simple Things

"In our deepest self we keep living with the illusion that we will always be the same." Henri Nowen "It's really very simple," my late spiritual director, Gladys, once said to me. She was talking about how she lived each day, waking up, having a written conversation...

Continuous Living

Continuous Living

"Anxiety turns us toward courage, because the other alternative is despair." Paul Tillich I've claimed "seasonal affective disorder" for years, and that may be so, but I'm starting to realize it's not only summer to fall that is hard for me. It's winter to spring, and...