Monday, December 24, 2018


Next Time




     Ian,

We're almost passed this horrible year, aren't we?
 After writing some this morning I felt more light; 
I felt lifted again, felt you softly lifting me again.
 I felt God and I felt lifted. 
That is something, all things considered.

Thank you darling boy,
You are such a good son.


When we walked in the woods together just now, along the river, I jabbered on about all the things you used to do....the things we used to do together, and you walked along with me there, you most certainly did.

My weak and unfocused mind can barely keep a thought, but nonetheless your presence was strong and so warming. I smiled. I told you about my problems with Irene, my sadness and deep disappointment. I told you that Chris and Kenzie love you so much in their own throbbing painful ways; and all the other stuff I am mad about or hurt about or confused about. I told all and you listened and I felt your head nod in agreement and fealty. You are on my side as I have always been on yours. It is our special secret, this unity of purpose and blind loyalty to one another. You know my heart's odd ebbing and flowing, and you accept my imperfect soul.

I also said you and I were never going to lose each other and as I whispered it, I felt the certainty that transforms a wish into reality. I felt the melted wax seal of it on our love letter to each other. I said to you, "You are the strongest and most loyal person I have ever known, and once I love, I never let go." That combination will keep us tight through many incarnations, I believe.  Who knows what is next for us?



We might be strangers that meet one day in another life and suddenly know we've met before and form a smashing friendship. We might be born together off an island near Africa, a part of some crazy tribe that occasionally spears annoying Christians. We might be a in a pod of massive whales, plumbing the indigo waters where humans cannot go. I can hear the whale song as we would speak it. It is that real, that possible.





We may possibly be two small and exquisitely painted spiders on tiny dew-drenched webs, or two lacewings buzzing about in the night together around random porch lights to the rhythm of cicadas, then sleeping away the daylight in the cracks of an ancient oak.















We might be brother and sister, maybe twins, or Mother and son again. We might be 2 soldiers sharing nasty jokes and smoking weed, or we might be astronauts. We could be cliff swallows with fantastic mud mansions living in the constant reflection of Lake Amistad.




Wherever we end up next, I think we will be closer, closer than ever, for the pains and tears that have marked this particular life.

I know this, Ian. Not too many souls figure out how to keep hands clasped on different plains, not many still can speak so clearly or hear so well as you and I. This is at least something, right?



If I ever shake this shroud away, perhaps there are angles to our love yet to be seen.

Love,

Momma





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