Natalia died 18 months ago today. I can usually comprehend what I read. But even in print, I cannot grasp these words.
I’ve written quite a bit about the grief of losing a child, just very recently. But I have not yet decided whether or not to post those attempts at description. But I can say here that I have not experienced that sudden nausea today. The one that comes on instantaneously and without warning, the same way a flash flood does. My body has not shuddered involuntarily today. But I have no ambition, no self-discipline. Allan is helping our son-in-law build a fence. So I am alone. And I think that is good. I need some thinking time. Some time of almost complete quiet.
It is a gorgeous day. It is at least 70 degrees. The sun is at its absolute brightest. There is a mild breeze. I can call it gentle. It seems appropriate that I can do so. I abandon all work, and even the pretense of being interested. I go sit outside on the deck with a book. Our back is relatively isolated and affords mostly privacy. I don’t see the big heron in the creek, but he was probably here earlier this morning, standing at attention in the creek’s middle.
Trista sends me a text from work. She is hanging in there and wants me to assure her I will get some fresh air. I send a reply text telling her where I am and what I am doing. She responds, saying she is glad. I pick my book up. My usual habit is to read two books at a time, one fiction, and one non-fiction. I pick up the fiction. Probably a better choice for today. I don’t care if I learn anything. The plot has just taken a twist. But I soon lose concentration and just sit for a while.
At the end of last week, I started the book “Same Kind Of Different As Me”. By page 17 I have felt a hot anger in my stomach and then cried. My passion, if I have one right now, is how we treat each other. Or, to my way of thinking, it is more accurate to say how we are alienating each other. I’ve been thinking a LOT about that lately.
I wrote something, most likely suggested subconsciously to me by my current reading selections. But before I share it, I should tell you that I found several new cookie cutters, ones having to do with Spring, and I purchased them. When I got home, I found my purchases resulted in a duplication of one cutter and gave me cookie cutters for two different kinds of flowers. I set the new ones aside, ready to return them to the store. But I kept thinking about those cookie cutters. I decided I wanted two of the same one, even if I never use them. And having the cutters for two different flowers seems necessary. Yes, necessary. I love the symbolism. I need the symbolism, I think. Eventually I began to think about grandmothers and little granddaughters making cookies together:
Across the world, how many little granddaughters are in the kitchen with Grandma? I envision it. The cookies they are making may not be chocolate chip, our American favorite. Or they may not be making cookies at all. But that doesn’t matter. Because everything else I see is identical in the various kitchens. I see some form of flour or meal all over the place. I see another ingredient falling to the floor. Probably an egg, of course. And/or something spilling. I can hear each and every grandma saying that is OKAY! I notice that the giggles I hear sound exactly the same. Two little girls from opposite ends of the globe could trade places and there would be no recognizable difference in the giggles at all. And you know what else? I see each Grandma looking at those little faces, faces that might be different shapes. And either darker or lighter in color. Maybe the eyes are different. But each and every Grandma is pausing and kissing the happy little faces, loving them with all her heart. Kind of sounds like that idea, “same kind of different as me”.
As I paint these pictures in my mind, I have to ask, “If we could, whether we be mommies or daddies, or grandfathers or grandmothers, remember to look for the MAJOR similarities, how could it NOT change our approach to many, many issues? Knowing what is happening in each other’s kitchens. Wouldn’t that force us to live with more appreciation for each other?
I’m just saying.
