almost, as the kids say

Today is a day for remembering, for thinking about loss, for holding hands and sitting with grief. A day for a nod and a bit of a smile to the babies we don't have. Now, as usual, I'm a smidge late, and I can't claim to have suffered from much loss - I've got no dead babies hovering around me, flickering with Might Have Beens. I have only some mourning for the tries that came to nothing, that neither divided nor implanted nor came forth in anyway. But I bow with all compassion to those of you who know more loss than me. I hold your hands and your hearts in mine and I'll sit with you, as I know you'd sit with me.

Cali put out the call and the chorus of the IVP answered with the resounding sound of - well, of hope, if you get right down to it. Here we all are in this ugly fucking boat that's trimmed with Almost and Loss and Might Have Been. But this boat floats on hope and, god damn, the company is good.




It's hard for me to write too much about loss today. Things started out well with coffee being delivered to school and then Sophie and a friend went skateboarding this afternoon, and I heard them through the open front door, laughing that way young girls do. It's warm enough I let my kids at school go outside with their jackets undone. I saw the mountains from the playground. The crocus are up in my neighbor's yard, the all-important sun is out and we are turning the corner to Spring. I feel it.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I ’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

From my girl Emily, of course.