“I’m a mess,” I offered my befuddled husband as hot tears spilled onto my cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” Jim asked with tenderness, reaching across the table to take my hand.
The tears came without preamble in the middle of our lunch, in the middle of a very public venue.
“I’m a mess,” I offered my befuddled husband as hot tears spilled onto my cheeks. “What’s wrong?” Jim asked with tenderness, reaching across the table to take my hand. “Ma-am, I’m a police officer with the city of Aurora.”
I’d debated not answering the phone given the caller ID had simply read, Incoming; but my curiosity got the best of me. His introduction settled the telemarketer question. “Is your husband James Martina?” “Is my husband okay?” I queried, my thoughts wild with dread. “Your husband . . . driving . . . Route 59 . . . “ I'd caught bits and pieces of the officer's statement as I'd struggled to connect the dreaded dots. Awake, thou wintry earth -
Fling off thy sadness! Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth Your ancient gladness! Thomas Blackburn, "An Easter Hymn" The moment was as poignant as it was playful, two kids perched squarely in the middle of childhood doing what kids do best - making the most of the moment.
Oohs and ahs, giggles and gaffaws punctuated the curiosity driving both grandchildren closer and closer to the edge. "Stay away from the edge," I cautioned, doing battle with old rivals, curiosity and safety. The two concepts have always been diametrically opposed, at least since parenting became part of the picture. "Two more minutes," I added, checking the depth of the water as I considered the odds one or the other (or both) might get a little over zealous. Please, Lord, not on my watch! I’m restless this week. My thoughts are thin, wispy cirrus clouds floating high above ready articulation. The waiting has slowed time (and apparently coherent thought); as if the entire world might come to rest in order to bear witness to this latest miracle.
You’d think I was the one waiting to give birth rather than my daughter, Laura. From my lofty perch, one generation removed from all the pending chaos, I feel a sage wonder and reverence for the journey mother and daughter are about to share. Afraid of nothing, both carry on with audacity and hope, two hearts and one body sharing an amazing biological imperative as old as time. And so to pass the time while waiting for D-day (delivery day), I’ve been doing my own nesting of sorts: dwelling on the wonder of it all, particularly given I will have a front-row seat on all the action (I'm taking pictures!); reflecting on God’s grace; offering gratitude, and a bit of attitude, when it comes to this life-changing event. Have you ever had one of those days; the kind where things go from strange to stranger to downright bizzare?
My father turned 90 two weeks ago. We might have burned the house down had we chosen to throw caution to the wind rather than all the candles. We (me, my sister, Lynda, my cousin, John, and the birthday boy) did burn a bit of the midnight oil celebrating the milestone. Truth be told, the party broke up at 9 pm, the midnight hour for most nonagenarians, including my father. Each milestone, given the generous number afforded my father, begs the question: Is this the end of the line?
![]() "If life is a journey then let my soul travel to share your pain.” – Santosh Kalwar We headed outside to sit in a spot in the sun. Caged as he was, his mind trapped in a body unable to meet his expectations, this was a small semblance of freedom. His progress was slow, occasionally punctuated with a thump when his walker bore the brunt of his frustration.
I’ve been over the moon all week since witnessing Wednesday’s blood moon first hand. I mean, really, total lunar eclipses only happen once in a blue moon; of course, if memory serves me, there was a blood moon earlier this year. And two more will occur in 2015. Whatever!
Okay, so I’m not exactly mooning my life away waiting to see a blood moon. Did you get to see the blood moon? It was quite spectacular. I have pictures I’ve dying to share! |
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