When Life Is Full

Pouring fragrant jasmine green tea into Royal Dover china tea cup, I readied to tell her everything. How we celebrated husband's sixtieth birthday at the beach, all six of us, grown-ups with gray hair and nagging aches in various joints. You were there too. Leisurely walks under canopy of aquamarine sky, seagulls winging it, frothy waves lapping shore, you were there. Grand houses we admired, jokingly longing to buy, purchasing lottery tickets, for the joy of it all. Delicious birthday cake with coconut frosting made special for his sixtieth, pure bliss for palate. Our son, he surprised us for the special day, all grown now, he walked into twins' bedroom, and I turned to see this man-child who flew from Virginia to celebrate his Dad. Strong arms wrapped around my quivering shoulders, I swiped tears, this wet joy that streams from eyes. You were there too. A video daughter shot, capturing my surprise,  I played it and saw you too, my knees all wobbly and the hand that brushed at tears, you once held. You knit me together in my mother's womb. And I hear it then, this crazy word that takes the impossible, all the strands of messiness, pain and regret, sickness and doubt, it knits it all together in unimaginable fashion. We breathed it in, this rich Grace, for what else could hold your six children together? What else could fly son here on standby ticket? It's there in the shadows of this life, there in the sound of a newborn cry, there in six middle-aged children standing tall, together. In the words of George MacDonald: "There can be no unity, no delight of love, no harmony, no good being, where there is but one. Two at least are needed for oneness." I wanted to share it all with you, all this living, instead I drank the steamy tea alone, punching my thoughts out on keyboard. Twenty-three years have passed, bruised heart colored pale blue, ping of missing you lingers, just as your last breath. Can it be the image in the video is truly me and not you? And the breaths we take each day, your offspring, your grandchildren, are they an extension of your own, your lasting legacy?  In journal I penned, to count and claim, # 489 siblings who care #490 friends who work for airlines #491 mother's who smile wide when life is full.

You don't choose your family. They are God's gifts to you, as you are to them.

Desmond Tutu