If we were having coffee, I’d ask you why you were out and about so late. I’d explain that I’ve only slipped out briefly while my younger sister, Rache (aka “Silver Star“), sleeps on my couch. She’ll be headed back home almost as soon as she arrived, but the quickness of her trip doesn’t change the warmth left in its wake. Home feels even more like home when filled by traces of certain loved ones’ presence, I’d say with the hint of a smile, already looking forward to hearing my sister’s snores for a few more hours.
I’d tell you how we didn’t do much, and about how very perfect was our laziness. I’d say we slept only in alternating fits on Friday nights, talking through most of Unfriended and Cinderella, and laugh when saying I made it through only ten minutes of Avengers: Age of Ultron before taking a late-night nap. Me, sleep through a superhero movie and stay awake for Cinderella?! I wouldn’t have believed it myself, had I not been there, done that! Read more…
“How do we get the medicine on her?” Rache asked after we received it.
Our mom didn’t want medicine as she died. She’d cut herself in younger days; the physical pain felt more real, more justifiable, than her emotional pain. In her final days, I think it felt like a reminder she was still alive, still strong enough to endure any pain short of death.
None of us doubted her strength. We’d witnessed it firsthand for decades. Mom’s pain was evident, and excruciating, and we chose to ease it.
“I’ll ask if she wants to watch me nurse D,” I said. “She loves that. With Mom focused on that, you can give her a back rub and slip on the patch.” Read more…
My younger sister
drove us past Mom’s house
(Mom hasn’t lived there
since she died
in my sisters’ arms
five years ago)
a sense of heaviness,
as I have felt each time
I’ve passed since
it was empty of her
I smiled Read more…
My younger sister’s poem “Lost Tree, Found Girl” sent my mind and heart spinning today.
I spun through time and space, until I was sitting with my still-little sister in the lowest branches of my favorite. To her older and still quiet, black-adorned high school self. To Cambridge scholar. To mom, neither little or especially quiet; though she still favors contemplation, she’s ready and willing to roar whenever–and at whomever–deserves it.
Her heart has always had a special place in my own. Today, remembering the two of us sitting up in that tree, I was more glad to have had that tree-time than sad it’s over. I was so glad, in fact, that I recorded a vlog to sing you all about it.
I no longer sit in the tree, but I can still sit with the girl.
That’s worth another song, if I ever get ’round to writing songs again.*
I carried to South Korea a spiral-bound notebook with a silver dragonfly on its cover.
My friends had filled it with encouragement and recollections of shared memories meant to sustain me through lonely times.
The love behind their words has sustained me through so much more than my season in South Korea.
Last night I heard one of my sisters let herself into my house as I washed bottles.
My baby was asleep. My five-year-old was so immersed in Doc McStuffins that he barely noticed her arrival.
Amelia joined me in the kitchen. When I stepped away from the sink to make salad, she took over at the sink and started washing dishes. Read more…
Sometimes it’s easy to miss the glory in small moments.
This afternoon, I saw one such moment for what it really was: the culmination of millions of choices made in very particular order to bring a tiny band of people together beneath the Los Angeles sun.
For one the two people pictured here, some of those choices included: Read more…
“I love you!” I shouted to my younger brother as he walked toward the airport a couple of hours ago. “Thanks for being such a great uncle!”
He smiled awkwardly and waved once more before disappearing into the airport. I teared up as I pulled away, wishing I could have him closer a little while longer. Three days wasn’t enough.