Home > Death, Grief, Love > for now and evermore

for now and evermore

I haven’t seen my friend Ra for weeks,
what with the busyness and exhaustion
of work and commute and kids and
always juggling something.
(And that’s just on
my end!)

Her penultimate post
reminded me of something
I wrote just before I took a
few weeks off.

So here it is,
with love and missing,
but mostly love.

for now and evermore
9/30/15

“You’re six years old now,”
I told Li’l D, “and that’s
awfully big.

“So it’s time for me to ask:
Do you still want to
be called Li’l D,
or is it time
for a new nickname?

Love for Littler J, too

Big D and Littler J

“(You can’t be Big D, though;
that’s your uncle‘s name,
and it’d be confusing,
for everyone,
frankly.)”

“Li’l D is good,”
my little man proclaimed.
“Just Li’l D.”

“That’s it, then!
I’ll ask you again
on your seventh birthday,
in case you’ve changed your mind.”

“No!” he roared at me,
“I’m always Li’l D.
Don’t ask again!”

So it is,
so it is.

Last night,
falling asleep
was a feat like
catching live dinosaurs:
I can imagine it, but
it’s easier pictured
than done.

“There’s something
you’re supposed
to take
from this,”
my subconscious whispered,
“if you’d like me to release you
to your dreams.”

“But can’t you tell me
what?” I pleaded.
“If you point me
the right direction,
I’ll get there faster.”

“You’re not
supposed to get there faster,”
she laughed.
“You need to get there
right.”

Her laughter
trailed behind her
as she danced
out of my reach.

Meanie.

Words wove through
my thoughts
instead:
Ra’s words
about me and my husband.

“Y’all are both beautiful writers.
I wonder if the boys will inherit it?”

I replied:

“That would be so lovely.
I wonder
what their voices
will be like?”

“Their voices will be
a combination of you both.
Honey and whisky,
campfire and sparklers,”
she said.

I sat with that
for a moment
before replying:

“Maybe, if they’re lucky,
a little of you
will trickle into their voices,
too”

getting closer,
whispered my subconscious

I pictured
Li’l D and Ra
at Li’l D’s party
last weekend;
and reading nestled up
together on our stinky old couch
the night before that,
and

I saw
Li’l D and Ra
huddled together
at her husband’s funeral;
it was their first time meeting,
but they’d also met forever ago,
I felt,
in the stars

(we are all
born of stardust)

I wondered:
If Li’l D is Li’l D,
and Big D is Big D,
what does that
make Ra’s husband,
whose name was-IS
also Dave

I wished
Li’l D could have known
Dave

But then,
then

… almost there …

I thought:
He does.

Bubbles with Ra

Bubbles at Li’l D’s party

Dave
lives, still,
in this way:
in Ra’s laugh,
in the let’s-share-a-secret
glimmer in her eyes
as she whispers
with Li’l D
on the couch,
in the bubbles
she blows toward
my entranced
Littler J,
in this look,
and that dream,
and this catch in her voice
as she says this one thing,
and how she hugs,
and how she navigates
the minefield of toys
in my boys’ bedroom,
and a million things
she does
and says
and dreams
and puts forth
into the world
every day,
and,
of course,
always,
in her words

Even so,
Dave is still
not-here, and that
is an ache I can’t
really fathom,
though goodness knows,
I wish I could
so I could better offer
some scant comfort

But he is at least as here
as not-here,
a truth that only
seems contradictory
if abstracted from
the human heart

… there it is …

As I think
of three Daves,
especially the one my Li’l D
never hugged in person,
I see, too,

whatever words
Li’l D weaves together
in the future will
reflect pieces of me,
and his father,
and his Rara,
and–through her–
little glimmers, too,
of that D
my little one
never hugged
in body, but some of whose
tendrils of love
and silliness
and conviction
envelope and
shape him
for now
and
evermore

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Categories: Death, Grief, Love Tags: , , , ,
  1. Sreejit Poole
    November 13, 2015 at 2:43 am

    A fantastically beautiful piece.

    • November 13, 2015 at 2:55 am

      Thank you! BTW, I’ve been thinking of your intention series the last few weeks, but can’t seem to devote enough mental energy to think my way through a sentence, let alone a post. If you still have spots open, is haiku a valid post form? 🙂

      • Sreejit Poole
        November 13, 2015 at 3:34 am

        Sure, if it says everything that you have to say. It’s your post, you do it in your way.

  2. November 13, 2015 at 4:13 am

    That’s so beautiful!

  3. November 13, 2015 at 4:41 am

    So beautiful. I just have to share this because it fits so well with what I have been posting. I think you will always be amazed by what your sons’ voices will be today, tomorrow, and always. I especially loved how you said they met before in the stars. I definitely believe that.

    • November 13, 2015 at 4:29 pm

      It’s been so neat to see how my two boys could come–seemingly–from the exact same sources and still be so different. I’m excited to see each grow into his own, in words and life. ♥

  4. November 13, 2015 at 7:12 am

    Love it!

  5. November 13, 2015 at 7:30 am

    I love this and you. And your whole family. David often reminds me of Dave as a little boy, the one I only ever heard stories about. Maybe that’s why I’m so protective.

    Thank you for sharing this. ❤

    • November 13, 2015 at 4:30 pm

      Given a choice between a thousand words or a single one, it seems best to go with with just the one:

      Thud.

  6. November 13, 2015 at 10:45 am

    How nice to be gifted with a beautiful truth – instead of the ugly truths which often come my way when I am wrestling sleep. Thank you.

    • November 13, 2015 at 4:31 pm

      Once in a while I’ll have pretty terrible thoughts at night, but it’s more often a time of peace and quite for me. As a 13- and 14-year-old, the only time I found any peace was in the wee hours of the morning, so that I usually feel that peace even now. (Of course, I don’t always feel great once daylight comes and it’s time to chase after youngsters, but … it’s worth it, occasionally!)

  7. November 13, 2015 at 11:11 am

    So sweet,

  8. November 13, 2015 at 1:21 pm

    Beauteous.

    • November 13, 2015 at 4:33 pm

      Thanks, Scott! It was funny to revisit this around the time I wrote it a month ago, and feel it just as fully now as then.

  9. November 13, 2015 at 1:45 pm

    So beautiful….I love her comment on how the boys will be a “little of each of you…Honey, whisky, campfires…..” so absolutely poetic and beautiful…. 🙂

    • November 13, 2015 at 4:34 pm

      Me, too. I melted a little when I read that, the first time and the many times after that. ♥

  10. November 14, 2015 at 7:06 am

    Beautiful.

  11. November 15, 2015 at 3:03 am

    Perfect, when we love we take in to our spirit pieces of the other; forever. We absorb their best and they become a part of us. This, this, this and that too our spirit says and then wraps around so we have the best to hold. It is what makes us whole and complete and allows us to remember, to love, to forgive, to mourn perfectly, to release and to love again.

    Thus perfect. Your son, he knows already who he is.

  1. November 13, 2015 at 4:42 am
  2. January 10, 2016 at 11:18 am
  3. June 12, 2016 at 1:40 pm

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