Rain

Today the rain stopped. The slow, methodical drips that escaped from clogged gutters like the incessant ticking of clocks outside of every window ceased unceremoniously. Slippery mats of soggy leaves and grass cuttings lie strewn in spots on the deck, on the concrete steps and against the corner of the trellis where the water washed them on its constant quest for a downward escape (or for our basement). The rivers and swollen streams rush mud and debris to places beyond Asheville, leaving calling cards of makeshift ponds in parking lots and riverside parks. Rem woke this morning, amazed. "Mommy," he called from the glass door where his breath created bursts of fog. "The sky is blue." The clouds moved hurriedly, offering quick glimpses of blue as they parted and reconnected.

Tam ventured trepidatiously away from the house as though stepping from the ark for the first time. Together with Rem she made a path of wet footprints through the house. Rem returned to the deck for more puddles but Tam seemed to want to let things dry before committing more time to the outdoors. Or perhaps she needed to recover from time spent couped up in the house with Rem and the unwilling moments of playing sidekick to a toddler sick with cabin fever.

Those in the know on the local television station dangle the promise of a bright, colorful autumn to soften the news of devastated apple crops. Rain remains in the forecast like an unexpected dinner guest who won't leave. Gloominess still hovers and the humidity dampens all of our moods. Craig's newfound guitar chords play a melancholy accompaniment to our restlesss evening of homework and chores. I need some sunshine.

Fun with Family

I watched the children from the living room window play under a blue Atlanta September sky. Andrew orchestrated the game of ball to eager followers. Brenna and Rem danced around the periphery with their own games, content to be a part of the group without participating in the structured play. Hours passed and I ended the happy afternoon with the need to get on the road towards Asheville.

Our initial purpose to visit my brother and his family centered on watching Andrew play a football game. Unable to coordinate our schedules for a home game we attended an away game that wasn’t far from my brother’s house. The game held many perks: Andrew was a captain, the home team didn’t have a marching band so his school’s band performed at half time, and my sister-in-law brings her pom poms, noisemakers and exuberance to both home and away games.

Rem cheered for his linebacker cousin when the defense lined up and I tried to point out number 45 to him. We listened for the home announcer to call Andrew’s name and waited through the long pause between first and last names as he struggled through the pronunciation. My brother leaned over from where he stood at the top of the stands against the chain link fence along with Craig to explain that even the announcer at Andrew’s school had a little difficulty with the name at the beginning of the season. “Of course he got a lot of practice and now it’s not an issue,” he smiled with pride and nodded his head in affirmation of his own statement.

Rem cheered for Andrew when the offense lined up and Andrew sat on the bench, resting, the back of his head dark and shiny with sweat. His team looked smart and well-disciplined but could not overcome the size and athleticism of some of the players on the opponent’s seemingly disorganized team. The parents continued to cheer, the band played with spirit and my sister-in-law shook her noisemakers until the end.

Rem cheered for Andrew when the band took the field at halftime. He cheers for Andrew every time he sees a football player on TV. He asks for stories about our week-end. First a story about Andrew, then one about Lauren playing with him in the car. Brenna stories get lumped with Rosco, the dog. He corrects me if I misspeak about something that happened and giggles with delight when I tell him how much his cousins love him.

My children share a strong, innate connection with their cousins. Time, distance and age create no boundaries to the easy, genuine bond that reveals itself when our family gets together. My children yearn to hang out with their cousins and demand sufficient time with their Abita Springs cousins to make trips to Louisiana worthwhile. And when together, there is no acclamation period, no time spent getting reacquainted. They get down to business. Miren will go hide with Lauren for awhile. Or Lise will head outside with Koby in an attempt to ward off the performance that Miren will con them into later. Andrew walks in the door, sweaty and tired from a long game and scoops Rem up into his arms without pause. Kate sighs, knowing that Rem will follow her every move for the next hour or two and hopes that Brenna is there to divert her attention. The friendships that the children foster among themselves soothes some of the loneliness that I feel for my siblings and their families as our busy lives in various parts of the country allow fewer and fewer times together.

Upon Learning of an Unexpected Death

…any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee. – John Donne from Meditation XVII

I have reached the age where I know death. No longer does it sit quietly on some illusive shelf, a token memory of a beloved elder. I wade in its reaching waters, part of the murkiness, the ugliness and sadness that death encompasses. And the finality.

In this year alone I watched death take my grandfather, scared and angry. Already totally lost to the world that staged his life and unable to recognize the people who filled the scenes death cruelly rendered him unrecognizable to those very people. Alone, weeks later, my grandmother followed and due to the proximity of one death to another her body lies in an unmarked slot in an unfamiliar mausoleum some distance from the tomb she and my grandfather had chosen that bears their names.

My aunt who also bore the title of my godmother died near Easter, the church where she lay awash in white lilies. A small town of people who knew and loved her filled the church and shared their grief with my inconsolable uncle (and godfather) and his children. Children, while grown (and some of them with grown children of their own) demonstrated the difficulty of breaking the interwoven strings that tie a mother to her children at every age.

During the course of the week or the month I learn about people who have died, people younger than I am, with families and seemingly good health. Sudden heart attacks or quiet ends to long struggles are included in the banter of every day conversation with friends. Deaths of familiar people from the community are discussed on a busy sidewalk downtown or in the grocery aisle between the coffee and the cereal. Random, unexpected accidents splay their fingers just far enough away from me that my mundane daily routines remain uninterrupted but I know death hovers. I have reached that age.