So Mexico was tremendous, as she always is. The weather was perfect, our house luxurious, friends full of light and love. Travels were long, as is the case when you choose to drive 7 and a half hours with two small kids before you even embark on the first plane. Of which there are two. But kids roll much better than us grown ups. Though Eliana, much to my chagrin, has finally found the phrase, How much longer? I so remember asking my parents the same thing. Then Hilary and I would go back to some weird, footsie/slam our bodies around in the backseat game. Funny thing. Sol and Elie know the exact same game.
So after a bit of a trip, we found ourselves back in our paradise. I felt everything slow. I felt extreme presence. I felt deep calm. And depth. A rooted-ness in all the intensity that has been the past two weeks. And gosh, we can even go further back. Because before Brandon died, life was still pretty intense. He just kinda trumped it all in that big, life and death kinda way. I was talking to my friend Hollace today. She was comparing death to the end stages of pregnancy, into birth, into the extremely new mom days. How everything is so bright and so intense and so real. You have no choice but to be in it.
That was how the first days in San Pancho were for me. The sun was so electrifying, the ocean so clear, my children so wild and baffling in their unique beauty.
Then I'd have a moment alone and need to dive into the dark. To listen to one of Brandon's songs. To check in on his blog. To carry on a conversation about his funeral service, seeking solace in every last detail.
And, just like that, it would be time to take off my headphones, hop from the rooftop deck, and re-enter my dazzlingly bright world. I'd make a perfect margarita. Head to town with Eliana for a scoop of mango ice-cream.
Pop Soli on my back and mosey to the beach for sunset. And their beauty would shine even more intensely than before. I'd feel supremely present and supremely blessed. Put my arm around my relaxed and kind husband. Watch Eliana and Sol interact with their silly and loving Auntie and Uncle.
Watch another show. Sticks make a perfect bow, a set of drumsticks. Eliana and Soli make a superb band, all wild beats and tremulous rhythms.
Sunsets and fish tacos. Climbs to the top of the lifeguard palapa. Soli's footprints in the wet sand as he races back and forth and back again, hours of endless laughter and motion. Eliana's games were a bit more focused. The building of a stage or a castle or a sand pit. The assembly of a perfect beach outfit. The gathering of shells. Or violins. Soli's more of a moment-to-moment guy. All big waves and stone throws. Matt said he'd never met a kid who liked to play fetch almost as much as a puppy.
By midway into the week, I'd begun to choose the light almost entirely. My last rooftop session was extra fierce and I was able to conjure up memories that I didn't know were still there. I was able to feel Brandon. Feel my past. Feel the part of me that loved him with such intensity. That raw, deep, purity of young love. It was so lovely reconnecting with him like that. I woke up the next morning in a new space of The Process. It's all integration. It's all process. I so am not a fan of random capitalizations, but that's what this all feels like. Part of the process. Part of the process of understanding myself. Understanding my story. Understanding the light and the dark, the real and intangible, the depth and the honesty.
The depth and the honesty of Eliana's curls after they mingle with the sea air. The intensity of emotion in her violin song about The Feelings. Solomon's call of, Bye, Ocean! each day when we left the beach. The way he'd monkey wrap his arms around me in the morning and plant a kiss on my face with his big, fat lips. Or his mastery of the phrase, Shut up, Elie! always said at precisely the right moment, her mouth running like an incessant little motor of comments and questions. Jeff and I can't even take credit for passing that phrase down, as it's one of my least favorites. But he's got it, and he uses it well. Funny little duck.
Today was long. But sitting here and taking some time makes it all feel a lot more manageable. We can't be on vacation all the time. I can't mourn all the time. I can't process all the time. There's lots and lots of space for the moments. Thank goodness for the moments.
1 comment:
yay, nicely done! the last photo is my favorite (: xoxo
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