I am not I.
I am this one walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
who remains calm and silent while I talk,
who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
who takes a walk when I am indoors,
and will remain standing when I die.
-Juan Ramón Jiménez
Thank you for Jules sitting by the open kitchen door with his face turned skyward, watching the rain. For the cold drops soaking the new grass, tapping against the kitchen skylight, falling outside our open bedroom window as Eloise and Moses burrow under their covers and go to sleep.
Thank you for time alone with Julian at the end of the day when the house is quiet. How he crawls into my arms, his face filled with trust and adoration. I have not yet done anything to compromise this devotion - I haven’t yelled in frustration, hurried him into a carseat, caused him to scowl at me or ordered a time-out while he kicks and screams at the bathroom door. Tonight, as Julian grinned and tumbled over me he reminded me of Moses, who only six years ago was just as new. When we were each others whole world, and he could do no wrong. I wanted at that moment to go into Moses's bedroom and crawl into his bunk bed just to be close to him. To promise myself that I would treat him still like I treated him then. And I asked myself, are there parents who can do this? Who are truly able to always hold their children in that same forgiving space that they held them in when they first arrived? Can I be more patient, more allowing, more celebratory of his wild childhood joy? Instead of being quick to tell him what to do or not to do, can I appreciate more his ecstatic and spirited expression of life?
Thank you for sharing a table today with seven women and their cameras at Kelley’s husbands pizza shop. For the feeling of a life rich with good people. How it reminded me tonight of living in the jungle in Hawaii - so astounded at how many good people came in and out of each day that I started making lists in my journal every night of all the new people I had met. And I love that if I were to go back and dig out that journal now, I would find Orest’s name at the end of one of those lists. April 1st, if I remember correctly. And it is April again now, another year gone by.