JANUARY 28 FOREVER

 

 

A grandson, born 28 January 2005

My mother, died 25 May 2005

Our son, born 28 January 1972, died 17 July 2005

Our son's only child, born oh my 29 July 2005

Swirling molecules of grief colliding with molecules of love.  

A photo, our son, a tall man with soft light brown hair 

Worn long in front--now bald from chemotherapy--

Holding high his nephew with the downy scalp, 

Matching bald head for bald head. 

Our son looks quizzical. 

Then his daughter a healthy baby, punk-style strawberry blonde hair. 

A nurse asked: "Is the new mother your daughter?"  

"No, she's my daughter-in-law." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry," touching my arm. 

Twelve days after our son's death, his daughter closed the circle. 

Our daughter-in-law went from nursing a husband to nursing a baby,

Flush with new-mother hormones asking God "why?"

The day of the funeral I held the grandson born just six months earlier. 

Our daughter handed him to me, knowing I needed to stay upright.  

I focused on his silky soft head (99th percentile, his father bragged). 

By six months this baby already saving a life.

Our son's daughter has filled the family with joy and admiration

For over 20 years now.

Praise God, she has never shared our grief, 

Although he has her own knowledge of loss.

When she holds out her arms for an embrace, 

No person is luckier than I.  

Now on January 28, it is my grandson who I awake thinking of. 

In the midst of this remembrance of love and sadness, 

I get a call from our granddaughter.  

"It is Daddy's birthday," she says, "I am thinking of you." 

How can she know I need her voice today?  

We are home with the flu snowed in and feverish.

She drives partway up our icy drive, then walks the rest of the way

Carrying a bag of cough medicine and spicy Peruvian chicken.

She leaves it all on the back stoop, taps on the window and waves.

We have enough chicken, rice, beans and Robitussin to last. 

The hardest year is long over.  We survived it.  

Our daughter-in-law stayed a widow for ten years, 

Until that no longer seemed right, 

Then married the man our granddaughter calls Dad.  

But Daddy is still our son, 

A man who has filled her with his tenderness of spirit. 

More than any other feeling, I feel lucky and blessed.  

I feel God's gifts in my marriage, in the snow softly falling again.   

In Waiting for Godot Samuel Beckett (1906-1989) said, 

"I can't go on.  I'll go on."  

And so we have.