28 March 2008

What I'd Give Her

If I could give her anything, it would be this memory, untarnished and perfect, to carry with her always.

Her mother, lying on her back in the center of the state capitol, strange glances be damned, her father, holding her out above me, giving her wings to take flight, and her, (oh her), sweet and confident and the world her oyster, the sun streaming, making her view a magical scene, decorated with rainbows.

I would give it to her in a silver locket to carry upon her heart. She could open it when she stumbled upon darkness, and it would offer light. She could touch her hand to it when she felt cold, and it would offer warmth. When she felt lonely and afraid, it would gently comfort her in the knowledge that no matter where she wanders upon this earth, she is never alone.

The locket would be strung upon a silver strand, which defying logic or reason, would be made of the most fragile yet resilient material ever known. It would be flexible enough to move with her always, to be whatever she needed, and it would be strong enough to keep its own form. It would wrap itself around her shoulders and sometimes, in the quietest of moments, it would brush across her chest and whisper the secrets of my soul to her.

If I could give her anything, it would be that.

17 March 2008

And Lo, The Heavens Parted....

...And the Seventh Seal was revealed.

Cause I love you all so much, thought I'd warn you that the Apocalypse is near; you might want to start doing the stuff on your "If I Had a Week to Live" list.

My sister called me while I was laying in my bed, pretending to be sleeping.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm in bed, I've given up. I can't take anymore."

"It's 7:30."

"I know. What's up?"

"I need your recipe."

Pause. I remove the phone from my ear and pinch myself.

"This is Jennifer."

"Quit being a smart ass. I need the recipe for your oatmeal cookies."

"And I don't want to read about this on your blog."

I'll take, "She's Three Hours Away and Probably Won't Hop in Her Car to Come and Kick My Ass" for $10,000, Alex.

Get busy folks. The end is near.

14 March 2008


Even if you're just a lurker here, please de-lurk for this one; it'll take two seconds.

Are you going to Blogher?

(See, wasn't that easy?)

12 March 2008

When Blue Ruled the Sky

"Grandpa is in the hospital", said my mother.

"Grandpa X"? I asked; for a moment forgetting that, of course it would be him, my mother's father had passed one snowy New Years Eve. Once again, my mind resting in a place in time where I hadn't learned of hard things to come; once again, my mind, jolted back to reality by the present.

My childhood summers were decorated with his laughter and smiles. In order to stay involved with the family business, he drove one of the delivery trucks. I'd wait at the end of my driveway for him, then hop in, each trip ending with an ice cream cone of some sort.

My eighteenth year marked many changes for me; the official end of my childhood in more ways than one. Entering that summer, I truly felt invincible; immortal, even. Despite the fact that I'd lost people that I loved, I honestly felt like I personally would never age, could never age.

My heart didn't emerge from that year intact. It's never healed in those places, even after all these years.

That summer, my godfather was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He was my grandfather's best friend. Rather quickly, his body was ravaged by the disease. They had waited to tell me of his diagnosis until after my graduation party, the third weekend in June. He passed in August.

In the time between, my mask of niavete shielded me from what was to be. I believed that my prayers would be answered, that he'd get well. I left for a weekend sojourn with my best friend, and when I returned that Sunday night, I had to grasp the chair in front of me to remain standing; he'd deteriorated that much.

Two days later, my prayers were no longer for his well being or recovery, or even for more time. I cannot tell you in words what it was like, in that moment, when instead of life, I prayed for death. I'd never imagined such a scenario that would bring me to my knees in that manner. I didn't leave his home the same girl that I'd walked in.

He died the next day, and at his funeral as I was reading, I looked up and saw my grandfather, a single tear streaming down his cheek. His eyes were a piercing blue, the same color as my best friends. I recall in that moment the blinding realization of what was to come: He'd lost his best friend. My best friend sat behind him. Someday, would it be I, or would it be her, sitting in the front row, wondering where the time had passed, glancing over at a coffin that held the remains of what we had held so dear?

The thought haunts me still; with this time and space between. I want to be home, holding my grandfather's hand, talking to my parents, sitting next to my grandmother. And yet, I am home. My home; with my family, my future, my wood floors creaking below my feet, my own children living the moments that will become childhood memories.

And caught up, yet again, in this thing we call life. This passing of time. This happening of events around me, this partaking in the things that adults partake in, yet this still feeling as though surely this cannot be.

Balancing what I am externally with this waiting in my mind, in my memory, waiting for the sound of a truck to come crunching around the bend, the swinging open of a door, my skinny legs climbing up to plunk down next to him, my scrawny arms rolling down a window through which my upper torso would emerge, my face smiling into a place which held only sun and blue ruled the sky.

04 March 2008


I blinked, and then Ten.

A decade, within a moment; I'd suspected the possibility, but now instead of whispering softly, hinting at its arrival, it lies sprawled within a bed, a nymph-like being, teetering between the age of child and young adult, holding onto the possibility of fairies (maybe, just maybe) while peering with trepidation at what lies just beyond the bend.

An impossibility, no longer, but instead a truth.

I try now, to remember the scared woman that I was walking into the hospital, knowing that when I walked out, I would be a mother, but not comprehending it. Perhaps, today, not comprehending it still.

I sit tonight, cupcakes to frost, with un-pink frosting. Pink, which once had been the staple of her wardrobe and bedroom, pink, the color of her dreams. Pink, the flush of her cheeks the first time my awestruck tears fell upon her. Pink, no longer the hue of her world; she sees gray now with all of the other colors that exist.

This happens when you grow, you know. You learn about rainbows, and you learn about the rain that brings them. You learn about umbrella's that even the most hopeful mommy's don't always carry with them, despite their most sincere intentions.


I swear to you, it was only a moment ago that I first saw her heart beat. It would only make sense, then, that it was a breath ago that I tried to put together all of the changes within my body and tie them to the small blurry being before me on the screen. It was impossible, then.

It remains as such today.

I sit here tonight, a post ten years; a life; in the making, and am adrift in what it has all meant, what it all means. I had assumed that night a decade ago that when she reached this age, there would be so much more that I would know; that I would be confident in my actions, that I wouldn't feel as awkward and hesitant, so unsure of my movements. It was only the first of so many times that I would be wrong when it came to this thing called Motherhood.

Oh, Big A.

What you did to my heart, that moment first I saw you.

I could feel the heart within me rip and twist in ways I'd never known, in just that first second that I peered upon you.

There was a light, so bright, so clear and so true in that moment; it was piercing in its clarity, blinding in its rapture. Everything I had learned up to that moment, unlearned. Everything I thought that I had held dear, lying neglected upon the floor of my life as I worshiped at your altar.

I couldn't sleep, because I had to keep gazing upon you, making promises to you. I remember them, my little girl, and I will keep them. I just hadn't intended on them being so long in the making.

That night, so long and snowy ago. That night, only yesterday, wasn't it, sweet child? Wasn't it then, my little thing, that you first laid within the confines of my arms? Wasn't it only a minute ago that I first caressed your cheeks?


It wasn't.

I blinked, and then Ten.