Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Moments of missing

While out for a bite tonight, Sarah McLachlan's "Angel" came on the radio of the restaurant. My throat felt tight in minutes and the tears came moments later. Ceiba was finishing her dinner, while Avocet, already finished, colored happily beside me. I continued conversation, but the tears were unstoppable, slowly rolling down each cheek, no rush in them and no flood, just an unwavering faucet.

Ceiba carried on conversation; I could see she noticed, but she didn't burst out, "Are you crying?", which if you know her, is unusual. I kept talking... and crying... no change in mood or character and not missing a beat. Maybe I smiled too much. Eventually, she said, "Why are you sad?".

"Oh honey, I'm okay. This song just makes me miss my sister is all."

"Aunt Debbie." It was more of a statement than a question. She knew.

I nodded, Avocet now lying her head gently in my lap, tired from school, but a sentimental soul.
"I just really wish you could have met her."

In a few minutes, they were both quietly crying. There was never excitement, just their little hearts watching their Mama be emotional and vunerable.

I generally try to be strong. I know how empowering it was to watch my strong mother when I was a girl. And while they are familiar with me getting teary over a sad movie and things like that, I don't think they know what to make of me just crying in the middle of the day. I was conscious to keep composed and to keep smiling. To comfort them and let them know it was just the thought of a song and then watching the two of them that brought on a moment. To know that everything was just fine.

They talked on the way home about her. They asked questions, and I gave answers and expanded into stories. While one asked what day she died, and I knew, but said we could remember her birthday instead.

"Did she look like you?"

"Yes, very much. She was just like me, but sweeter and with not as big of a mouth as Mama."

"She had a small mouth?"

"Well, that just means she spoke softer and was not as loud. It's just an expression."

Gosh, just to dream of how much they would have loved loved loved her.
Time heals all wounds, they say. If I live to 200, I guess maybe it might.

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