161 to 170

161. Yummy lunch with new friends.
162. Sam bowling with Weebles as pins... being the ball himself.
163. Hazelnut flavoured syrup in my coffee.
164. Vava going back to sleep after an interrupted nap.
165. Quiet afternoon with Patrick.
166. Sam's imaginary cat.
167. Patrick manning the kids and cart while we got groceries.
168. Vava going down the stairs all by herself for the first time ever.
169. Darling husband folding laundry.
170. A pretty new scarf that twists so beautifully.

Vava Grows Up

Today I had one of those really strange moments where one little change means that nothing will be the same.  You know - the ones that hit you with surprise and clarity and probably seem a little more boggling because you were up three times in the night.

I took the kids to Mom's Group.  The big kids play downstairs, and the babies play on their moms' laps upstairs.  So Sam goes downstairs and Vava sticks with me.  Except today, Sam asked if Vava could play with him.  No no, I told him, babies play upstairs.  And then Sam brings toys upstairs to play with Vava, and she picks up a truck and goes brrrm brrrm and pushes it down the hallway, and sits at the top of the stairs.  So we take Sam downstairs again, and Vava sees a Little People play house and she's smitten.  She starts playing right away.  I wait a bit, pause, walk away, and she doesn't look up.  The last thing I see before going upstairs is Vava kneeling in front of the house like a big kid, carefully putting toy people into the rooms.

And then all the other big things she's been doing lately really hit me - she's been asking for her bottle and soother with words, not cries ("gwink" and "footh").  She and Sam have been playing pretty independently, with less interference from me.  She's been taking steps across the living room, when no arms are open to catch her.  She's feeding herself solids with very little (no?) guidance. It's not so much that these are big steps for a 12-month-old, but I guess I haven't been paying much attention to the fact that she's growing up ... and it just hit me as a really big surprise that she's so capable and independent.

I love my Vava-bell.

151 to 160

151. The kids being so happy because Patrick woke them this morning.
152. Bittersweet moment of realizing how grown up Vava has become.
153. Sam wagging his bum around and laughing.
154. "Corn hot, Va! Sam bwo corn? Bite now, Va."
155. Driving to get Patrick from work, we see a plane take off into the evening sky.  An astonished Sam exclaims, "plane crash moon, ma!" Perspective lessons from a two-year-old.
156. Coming out of the store into a dark world, Sam warns me, "shh ma. Sun fweep."
157. Vava waking up for the bottle she'd been too sleepy to drink at bedtime, smiley and precious.
158. Warm blankets for snuggling on the couch.
159. Taco salad.
160. Patrick laughing.

151 to 160

151. An early-morning shower.
152. Sam beelining for Vava after naptime, with a joyful hi! and a sweet kiss.
153. Midday kisses from Patrick.
154. Sam's eyes lighting up when friends came over.
155. Coffee for a cold drive.
156. A houseful of happy kids.
157. Compliments from a five-year-old.
158. Chilly chat with neighbours, hugs, hellos.
159. Strength for today.
160. Hope for tomorrow.

141 to 150

141. Sam and Vava chasing each other around the living room.
142. That unexpected moment when the sun shone through, and everything grey became pink and gold.
143. Both kids happily gobbling the same food for once! Three cheers for Pad Thai.
144. Breakfast alone with Patrick.
145. My dad's voice on the phone.
146. Sam's delight over finding a "baby tree!" (the spine of a leaf).
147. Vava's hilarious attempts to climb up the slide ... crawling, in boots and mittens.
148. Treats and laughter with fun friends.
149. Sam teaching Vava how to build a tower.
150. Vava's joy at being reunited with Baby after a 30-minute outing.

131 to 140

131. Vava on my hip while I was making supper, leaning over the bacon with her little hand out demanding "come! Come!"
132. A kind friend watching Sam so Vava and I could have a peaceful appointment.
133. Vanilla latte.
134. Naptime ... for me too.
135. Silly, growly hugs from Sam.
136. Sweet nurses for Vava's shots.
137. A fun evening out with the kids.
138. My big helper lugging a huge bag of mangoes.
139. Glancing back over some old prayers and seeing so many answers.
140. Old sermon notes - and old preachers.

No One Should Have To Go Alone

The last thing I saw you do was sink into the earth.

The preacher raised his black shoe and pressed it squarely over that bump in the plastic green carpet, and your body – locked up, so strangely – eased its way down into the precise rectangle you'd been allotted.

I don't know how I knew there was a pedal underneath the fake grass, or that it was the catalyst for sending your body away, but I knew. And when I think of that awful shoe pressing that awful pedal, I am filled with rebellion and suddenly I am four years old, fighting to throw myself on top of your casket, wanting to go with you because no one should have to go alone.

I think I've been wanting to go with you ever since.

Because no one should have to go alone.

Life is full of things I don't understand and since you died, the oldest part of me has only been alone.

It was inevitable, our goodbye. Your leaving was just a matter of time. You hadn't recognized your life in a long time, but I couldn't recognize mine without you.

I remember this one time. All the adults were gone, you were home with us kids. And my big sisters were wide-eyed because you had been carrying kibble out for the dog – and you ate some. I defended you, saying maybe it was good, who knew? Maybe you liked it – and if someone had lived as long and as kindly a life as you, then why shouldn't you eat dog food if you felt like it? It didn't seem to do any harm – to you, or the dog.

There was one of the thousand times we went for a walk. We got lost. I knew it wasn't quite right, that you shouldn't know your way home, and we shouldn't have turned into that street. There was a wilderness in your eyes, and I could see that you knew it wasn't quite right, that I should know my way home.

There was the book I loved. Long and wordy. And you read it to me seven times in a row, and even I tired of asking, “Again?” And I realized that you were different from everybody else but it was a difference that was okay.

You wore a grey cardigan. I suppose I must have spent a lot of time with my head upon your shoulder because I see it up close in my mind's eye. Feel the scratchy softness of it on my cheek.

Sometimes I turn to show you something and the world tilts a little bit, because you aren't there. A yellow flower on the side of the road, the spring's first pussywillows, that perfect mud for squelching between your toes.

Where are you?

I mean, I know where you are. I know you're in Heaven, and life is glad and good and you're home – finally, home. I guess when I ask where you are what I really mean is I miss you here with me.

121 to 130

121. Vava trying to stand on her head.
122. Christmas music.
123. A happy story about a friend's new crush to start the day off with a smile.
124. Crayons with Sam, drawing tracks, tracks, and more tracks.
125. Patrick coming home; best moment of every day.
126. Friends for supper.
127. A room full of lively fiddles and instant homesickness.
128. Stack of dishes,  done.
129. Sam's awe (fear?) at the speed with which white clouds can tear across a black sky.
130. A just-right pillow.

111 to 120

111. Bath toys, bubbles, and cute baby bottoms.
112. Vava's delight over bacon bits.
113. Sick Sam snuggles.
114. "Night Ma! Kiss?"
115. Banana pancakes.
116. Texting with my family.
117. Chat in the sunshine.
118. Smiles at the grocery store.
119. Refreshing shower.
120. Heavy clouds at sunset.

101 to 110

101. Warm husband who snuggled me close in my chilly, fevery sleep.
102. And brought me tea.
103. And manned the kids.
104. So I could sleep until 3pm.  Seriously.
105. And did the grocery shopping.
106. And put the kids to bed.
107. And cleaned the house.
108. And did the laundry.
109. And told me he loved me.
110. And drew happy faces on my feet.

while it was still dark

it's still dark.

maybe there's a huge spray of stars overhead, or maybe it's cloudy, but either way - dark.

nighttime.

dawn hasn't yet softened the pitch into something more navigable.

and these women come along, carrying jars and baskets and bags.

and sorrow.

that heaviest burden.

it's night, coal-dark, and their hearts are darker.

i think it's too stark for tears.  i think their throats and eyes are burning, that dry ache of despair and confusion.  

there's no way they could have slept.

maybe they sat up and whispered together.

maybe they stared into the dark, eyes wide open, hearts nailed shut.

they walk stark in the horrible awareness that this is a world without hope, carrying their bottles, their last things.

it's not like they'll be able to use them.

it's a pointless walk, at best.

their heart's hope is dead and gone, their grief unresolvable.

but still they come to the graves.

they come to soften the blow of death, to anoint it, to give tenderly what was not permitted in those last searing hours of life.

good samaritans ... late, but better late than not at all.

and perhaps they can persuade a guard to relent, crack the seal, and release their tears, their mourning.

dawn whispers in the east, and 

there are guards, sleeping, all around.

the breeze quickens, slight, a breath

and there is an odd scent of - spring - 

and the stone is rolled away

the stone is rolled away

and the dead they came to wail over is

standing there

glad and perfect and FINISHED!

light streams from everywhere

and joy is deep and sweet and still

and glad and

the relief!

the stone is rolled away

death is gone

leave that tomb for someone else, 

it's irrelevant

this resurrection changes

everything.

*

Ninety-one to One Hundred

91. Children's Tylenol in the long painful night.
92. Coffee in the early painful morning ;).
93. Sam and Vava waving to each other from opposite sides of the patio door.
94. Simple but yummy side dish for supper.
95. Airplane rides and giggles.
96. One-sock Vava.
97. Sam's fascination with bugs, and his determination not to let any get too close to mama.
98. Sam licking Vava, "yum baby!"
99. Sam passing the markers to Vava; dexterous darling conquers the tightest of lids.
100. Sam hiding under the table, announcing "Sam hide ... make poo. Sigh ... No, make mess." (No poop ... just an attempt to drag a red herring across the Case of the Art Supply Mess.)