Friday, February 24, 2012

a thing Significant


It is 3:21 am.  The black and quiet are still somehow not quite enough to put me back. Because I cannot stop thinking about the birthday of a friend. He would be 27 today.


10 years ago. I hear the stickered white jeep turn into our driveway and walk out front. There he is, already smiling with too-short pants and a home-made T-shirt. "Are you ready for the best date of your life?!" He opens his long arms for a ribby hug. Smells like summer. I climb in the passenger side, kicking aside a small rubber-banded bunch of sage brush and a few warm nalgene bottles. He hands me a clip-board with what looks like a hand-written multiple choice quiz. "I'm gonna start driving. When you've answered the questions, you can turn them in to me."  He grins. I wish I remembered every question and answer choice, but here are the first few:


GNARLY AWESOME DATE ITINERARY:


For dinner, I would be stoked to go to :
a) Maddox
b) Picnic up the canyon
c) Southern Exposure
c) catch a rattle snake and roast him


After dinner I want to spend time with my fancy lad doing:
a) a movie at the Broadway
b) evening climb
c) drive somewhere
d) back rub




"Hmm." I smiled. "Well, I've never been to Southern Exposure. Let's go there!" He looked at me, eyebrows raised, and started laughing. "You serious?" "Yeah. Is it good?"  "Brinn, I put that on there as a total joke. I wanted to see your cute mad face. You don't  know what Southern Exposure is do you. Oh I love you." I didn't. And if by any chance there are some of you who also don't, it's strip club.


*   *  *


It is difficult for me to think about death honestly, to admit and take in I will end here. Whenever someone dies you hear phrases thrown around like Live life to the fullest! Never take anything for granted! But how do I do this, every every day?



Death sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With "This was last her fingers did,"
Industrious until
The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then 't was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.
A book I have, a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,
Had notched the place that pleased him,--
At rest his fingers are.
Now, when I read, I read not,
For interrupting tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.
By: Emily Dickinson

I find myself wishing I hadn't burned the letters. Searching inboxes for any undeleted message from the past. Sitting quietly on the couch believing he can see my life now, he can understand why I did what was done.

*    *     *

After watching him be lowered into his body's new earthy home, I felt in one warm moment complete hope. I don't know where it came from exactly or why then. But I felt clear and light. Grateful and motivated. Quiet.

My biggest fear is that I have not done enough-- that Death, time, or any constraint will find me less than I could have been or given. Eric and I sat up late one night talking about each other's death. It will happen. Having been so one, heavy grief is in our future. We accept. But we are alive now. Together. And we are happy. We are spending each day working on things we believe matter. I cannot say if I am living life to the fullest, since I don't feel like I really understand what that means. But I am living life. I am aware I am temporary. I believe we are eternal. 

2 comments:

  1. Lovely. I like how you touched on those seemingly insignificant moments that turn into some of the greatest.

    ReplyDelete