Monday / May 28 / 2012
I titled this post, “I’m alive” for a number of reasons. This past month has been a time of reflection. You haven’t heard much from the Writer Me but I assure you, with each new moment, I was composing in my mind. ‘Can’t help it. It’s in my blood.
This morning I awoke with a fresh, invigorating newness as if life had just doused me with a bucket of ice water, making it impossible to contain the compositions in my head any longer.
I’m alive in my writing.
As Hubs was at work for a few hours this morning, I found such gratification in doing some of the household chores that would normally fall on his To Do List, relishing the thought of his genuine, “I’m so spoiled!” — which surely would come.
A smile took ransom my face as I imagined the emotion in my life partner’s eyes, arriving home (in just about ten minutes) to a squealing-with-delight dog (literally) and beaming sexy-wife-in-an-apron (literally); being greeted with untethered hugs and kisses all the while being led into the house, changing into “comfies”, lounging with a satisfied sigh; being presented with a delicious, made-with-love lunch; and then looking around to realize his To Do List was truly completed.
The reverie filled me with joy. So, I finished washing the prep lunch dishes and tied a neat bow in the back of my apron.
I’m alive in my marriage.
Taking advantage of this glorious Adirondack weekend, Skip, Brittany, Brody and I took our Great Escape Season Passes for an inaugural run. Leaving my camera at home is something for which I am beating myself with a wet noodle! First priceless missed capture was my 21-month-old grandson chilling in his carseat in the back of Papa’s topless Jeep, wind whipping in his hair, donning his “Seventy7” ballcap, aviator sunglasses, and binky. Unbelievably cute.
The dozens of other snapshots I took with my heart include:
- Brody and Papa walking around the Park hand-around-finger like two best buds;
- The sprint Brody made (more than once) to ride the kids’ 18-wheeler ride;
- Brittany and I totally rockin’ the matching pink pedicures we’d gotten earlier that day;
- Brody’s jolted look of terror-meet-excitement when the kids’ drop ride (like Sasquatch) lifted off the ground and kept getting higher;
- Skip’s jolted look of terror-meet-panic when the kids’ drop ride lifted Brody and my height phobic husband off the ground and kept getting higher; and
- Brittany and Brody sharing Rocky Mountain Road Dippin Dots.
I’m alive in my family.
Just yesterday as I was walking through the parking lot of the Great Escape, I passed a young girl with blonde hair, tanned skin, and the cutest pink T-shirt. She was probably in her early teens, in good shape (like an athlete), and walked beside who I guessed were her parents and other siblings, laughing and telling stories of their favorite rides. Also… she had only one arm.
Did I see that right? Perhaps she was horsing around and had her other arm tucked in her shirt. I looked more closely and could see for certain — she was missing her entire left arm. And she didn’t seem to notice.
I found the first thing I did, without thinking, was reach over and touch my left arm, rotating my shoulder backward. I wondered if she was right-handed. I wondered if she’d been born that way or if something had happened. I wondered how she was treated by her friends, her classmates, the general public. I wondered if she’d noticed I’d been staring? Had I been staring? I don’t think she noticed.
I was grateful that in a 7-second frame, that young girl — without intending to or even realizing it — could impart to me grace, wisdom, acceptance, and vigor for life.
If it had felt appropriate, I would have reached out to her and asked to hear her story. I would have applauded her for living life out loud in spite of what society will label as her “disability”. I would have shared my story, at least to an extent. I would have told her I understand how judgement and curiosity feel when you have easy-to-see differences. I would have thanked her for exemplifying the purity of life.
I’m alive. Period.