| Subject: Letters to Samson - 24 The Road to the House of a Friend |
Author:
Holly
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Date Posted: 13:57:08 03/23/07 Fri
In reply to:
Holly
's message, "Letters to Samson - 1" on 18:59:32 06/04/05 Sat
So much has happened. We've moved. You have a supercool room with a loft bed. I've been sick, barely if ever able to get two shovels ahead of the shit blizzard.
You've lost three teeth. You read well. And we still end each day together. I said the other night that soon you would not want me there at night. And that I would be sad on that night. You said I could sleep with you as long as I needed to.
I love you.
The other morning you were brushing your teeth. Your Dad was losing his patience. You said, "Daddy expects me to be able to get things right right away, and sometimes I just can't."
Pretty astute for a six-year-old.
I couldn't put words to those kinds of feelings or events until I was much older. My grandmother was the closest thing I had to a normal parent, kind of making up for actual or perceived failings with her own daughter, my mother, I guess. She planted an apple tree in her back yard with each of her grandchildren. I was the first. And every year, for presents, she would give me china she had painted with apple blossoms.
Nana taught me about feelings. She taught me to draw. She taught me that, through love, we are all available to each other at all times and in all ways, regardless of whether one of us has died. Or moved.
I was an army brat. We moved a lot until I was 10 or 11. I moved a lot as an adult, too. When I went to Oklahoma for college, where I would be close to her, she painted a coffee cup for me with a winter scene (like Minnesota, which I considered "home") and the words: The Road to the House of a Friend is Never Long.
Moving again after seven years, the longest I have ever - EVER - spent in one spot has been a blast in some ways. And I've grieved some, let go of a lot, especially when it comes to the worldly goods, and spent some excellent time with you deciding what to keep, what to give, what to sell, what to toss.
The first things I packed were the apple blossom china and the cup.
I miss my grandmother. I miss my Dad. I miss my dog, Raggs, who died in 1992.
Raggs was licking my face this morning as I woke up. I love those dreams, the visits, the times when the heart or subconscious, or heaven answers our need for tactile proof that love survives. But it's hard to wake up.
And I was in a funk all day. You had a playdate (actually, you're still there, which is why I have time to write this), your first, so instead of coming home with you, your Dad came home with your first school pictures.
I ordered a pretty basic package. I added on only some bookmarks and two wallet cards - oh, and key fobs. Your Dad took one wallet card, and I picked up the other, turned it over. There was writing.
The road to the house of a friend is never long.
Maybe it's all bullshit. I don't know. But as long as I'm not using my beliefs to justify killing people, stealing from them, refusing to question the truth of what I am told, I choose to believe that Nana is right. Love makes us all available to each other, no matter what.
Have a great playdate, my son. It's a little hard to give you up to your friends. I will get better at it.
Promise.
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