Brown Fleece Gloves

by | Oct 21, 2010 | 1 comment

Was thinking today that one could go with the argument that the reason we mourn as deeply as we do for those who die is because there is something completely unnatural about death- and therefore, it must be an “intruder” as Tim Keller and many others call it.  But you could also go with the argument, that we mourn the loss of life so deeply because that is all there is- this life- thereby making it so very valuable.  It could be both- as my counselor often says, “This is all we know…” so of course I think Dan would be much happier here raising his daughter.  This is all I know.

We had no plans so we ran a few errands- which usually means spending some money which isn’t really good, but I’m finding lately I enjoy shopping- just throw it in the cart- it feels a little healing to buy things for Audrey especially.  But she really needed pajamas- hers were for 18 months I think so we went to Old Navy and got her a few pairs- also got her some socks and I even bought myself a sweatshirt and some long sleeve t’s.

I stopped and cried for a few moments by the wall hanging of fleece gloves.  Last winter I had no gloves or hat.  I didn’t really care, but I’m sure I also complained that I was cold.  One day you came home with a hat and gloves for me from the Gap after work.  “They were on sale, and you need it.”  It was a red wool cable-knit hat which at first I didn’t like, but ended up suiting me really well.  You were always good at picking things out for me- better than I am.  The gloves were brown fleece.  I lost one eventually at the dumpling place in the next town.  I didn’t bother going back because I had Audrey with me and was exhausted that day.  I hope I still have the hat- I think I must.  I told you that I was going to buy myself a nice hat and scarf and gloves and why did you get me those random ones?  I had a black down coat and a red hat and brown gloves now.  But you replied something sweet and innocent like, “You were cold.  I don’t want you to be cold.  Just wear them.”

I hate that you were so cold when you died.

“I hope it is warm in heaven,” you wrote in a journal.  I hope so too Dan.

Audrey’s in her crib talking to herself now- I’m sorry that she caught me crying on the couch before in the dark.  She was picking out her bedtime books and I was saying my goodnight to you but it’s amazing really how the crying keeps coming at the thought of you.  She gave me a smile at first because she thought I was hiding or doing something silly.  Her face changed when she saw me…just now I heard her say, “Appa got weawy hurt.”  I wish I hadn’t used those particular words- I hate hearing her say them.

At dinner I thought about the first time I saw you and hummed the chorus of a song I wrote later that day or at least that week- I forget…

“But there you are with your smile and guitar
and it doesn’t take long for the fall
your hand in mine and I finally know
I was waiting for someone after all.
I don’t believe they’ll be anyone else…
I don’t believe they’ll be anyone…
cause every day I keep losing myself
in the smile and the fall,
I thank God for it all.”


October 21, 2010

1 Comment

  1. Anonymous

    Dear Julia, I have been reading your blog since the mention in The Times and my heart aches for you and Audrey. We had an unexpected loss in our family earlier this year and although I am much older than you, have never had a child or lost a spouse, I find myself rooting for you and Audrey to somehow find your ways to keep going after your devastating loss. Of course I did not know Dan, but your love (and Audrey's) for him just shines through your posts. I am not a praying person, but you are in my thoughts and I hope you find your way to a peaceful future…


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