another month

This month has flown.  I tell myself I write this blog for myself and my flailing memory, for my kids, for my mom, and for Melissa.  I count on those last two readers to keep me capitalizing.  When Melis reminded me today that it had been a few weeks since I'd written, I listened.  So here we are.  It's been a wild few weeks.  I was in Cali for all sorts of big things - threw my sister a baby shower, went to a mega high school reunion, hung out with Brandon's parents - all things huge and milestone-y and meaningful.  Reconnected with sisters and aunties, old friends, best friends who I never get to see.

 

 

 

 

 

It was awesome in that my feet barely touched the ground, I flit and flew and, phew, was I pretty glad when it was all over.  I cherish all my time in the world that made me who I am.  Those almost thirty years of California, big city, shennanigans, but I certainly breathed deep as we flew down over a green Missoula, the rivers that dance, the still snowy peaks and warm, soft hills.  It is gentle.  It grounds me.  I think grounding is probably good.

I returned on Mother's Day.  Jeff and El had planted new flowers in my garden, scoured the house, made beautiful cards and drawings.  There was no where else I wanted to be.  The blessings inside our little home were vast and perfect.

Took a while off from socializing after my return, settling back into the last weeks of work, into my kids at school and at home, into the beauty and comfort of routine.  I relish this routine even more now as it's about to become nostalgic.  A few more weeks in the classroom, then a few months at home with my sweet ones, then back to work full time.  Full-time for the first time in five years.  Wow.  For a girl whose always worked, that's a long ass haul of part time.  And I'm psyched.  Will I miss impromptu hikes, morning dance classes, freedom to stop for coffee or move sorta slow?  Heck yes.  Will I be thrilled when that paycheck comes in?  Heck yes.  Trades and trades.  And my big girl is starting kindergarten which is huge.  She's huge.  She's so damn smart and funny and I'm beginning to see what she'll look like when she's a teenager.  She'll be a beauty.  A wonder.

 

And then there's little fireball.  So two and changing so fast.  Putting little phrases together.  Obsessing over shows and books.  Wiggles!  Otis!  Wiggles, please!  Otis, please!  Demanding in that way that shows he's finally found his voice. He can finally attempt to drown out his bossy better half.   They play and play and laugh and fight.  Eliana is beginning to really take care of him.  She calls him, "Sweetie," and loves to cater to his every need (even when generally they are needs that she creates for him).  She asked me tonight what the word, "produced" meant.  I explained it.  Then she said, "I produce Espanol and empanadas."  Es la verdad.

The integration continues.  The first little while after Brandon died, I only listened to his music when I was focusing on him.  Reflecting.  Feeling sad.  Wondering. It was a conduit for memory and emotion. 

But then yesterday I found myself on Mt. Jumbo after dinner.  The sun had finally come out after three straight days of rain and gray.  The sun was bright, my energy was high.  I was thinking about the energy in Bran, in his creativity, in the way he loved.  I decided to put him on my headphones.  Like my man Michael Franti says, I put my headphones straight into my heart.  I decided to take myself up to the sacred tree.  The tree I hiked to the day before I birthed Sol.  The tree that pops out of nowhere, alone, beautiful, wild on the side of the mountain.  I thought deep about all of his lyrics, trying to figure which girl which song was written for, analyzing phrases, appreciating the musicality, his gorgeous voice.  It was a new kind of reflection.  It was happy and appreciative and almost uplifting.  His ardent voice matched the bright green of the hills.  The river looked extra wild and wide, the mountains higher, the sun brighter.  I could have hiked forever. 

 

I reached the sacred tree.  And it had been cut down.  My gorgeous tree.  My birth and death tree.  All cracked and chopped and lying all sad and bereft on the green earth.  I denied it at first.  I hoofed it up to the next hill to make sure that perhaps this was a different tree before the sacred tree, one I'd never noticed, knowing darn well it was my tree.

So I stood and stared at the gnarled, chopped tree, hot and sweaty, Brandon's voice pumping in my ears.  Nothing stays the same.  Change is life is time is age is now.  Deep breaths.

I turned and made my way back home, glad to catch my kids before bedtime, glad to read the same stories again and again, fetch the same glasses of water, sing the same songs.  The routine of right now.  Before we have another change.