Friday Eyes: Gift of Life

A mother's love

A father's heart 

"Perfect love sometimes does not come until the first grandchild." Welsh Proverb

Amma's Treasure

Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present and future.

Gail Lumet Buckley

Friday Eyes: Time for Tea

"There are few hours in life more agreeable than the 

hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea."

Henry James

Friday Eyes: Berries & Boots

Blessings on thee, little man,

Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!

With thy turned-up pantaloons,

And thy merry whistled tunes;

With thy red lip, redder still

Kissed by strawberries on the hill;

John Greenleaf Whittier

Wild strawberries are ripening in the meadow,

and it's time to pick them (be sure to line your 

basket with leaves) and carry them home to tea.

                                                                        Gladys Taber

Glory Ride

I get up and dress for the day: black tank with red RIDE and sequins, jeans, eagle earrings and boots. One boot is good. One boot is bad: cracked and crunchy.  The Biker is revamping the saddle bags so I wash dishes while the water is hot. The Biker Mama is still the mama that washes the dishes.  

We gear up and  scoot out the back way to Route 12. Head north. Glory day. Blue sky. White cotton clouds. Sun. Trees in full summer dress. Here a bike. There a bike. A sidecar. A trike. Welcome Home Staff Srgt Aiken. A red sidecar.  Hot sun. Zip the zipper down. A red full dresser. Hit the highway hammer down. Zip the zipper up.

Quick helmet stop. Cross the United States Navy Seabees Bridge. Old Glory waving here, there and everywhere. Curtis's World Famous BBQ Ribs - the 9th Wonder of the World. Forty two years and counting. Wood fire ribs, corn, loaded potato, yams, root beer and cream soda. The good life.

Up the road. Landmark College: "a welcoming and supportive college community where faculty and students alike understand the challenges of learning differently." Small, rural campus. Shade trees and picnic tables. The Biker has a day job: covering the world with concrete. We walk the Colonnade. He shows me his work. Ramps and rails. Steps replaced. Sidewalk patched. Strips and squares. Broom finish. Exposed aggregate. Our bread and butter.

We meander down Route 5.  Tired old sugar shack leans into the ground for support. Corn, knee high to a grasshopper. Sweet Tree Farm. Yup, that's a llama. Walker Farm. Apple Hill Road. It's all the words... Quaint.  Picturesque. Rural. Rustic. Vintage Vermont. Down into Rundown Town.  Here a roundabout. There a roundabout. Everywhere a roundabout. Back across the Seabees Bridge. Live free or die New Hampshire. Off with his helmet. He passes it back. Nope, can't tuck it in the pack.. It rides my elbow. Welcome Home Srgt Miller. The sun hides. A chill on coming into Better Town.  Black Helmet. White Cross. "When the floods come and the towers fall, Just remember there is a kingdom already made for you. Seek it out." 

Follow the river. Signs of the flood high up the banks. The ferns flattened. Mud.   

4 Miles Free Food.  

YO! 2 Miles Free Food.  

Just 1 Mile The Tent.  

Stop. Eat. Rest.  

We stop. We eat. We rest. Sit on a rock in the river. The rock has a fissure three fingers wide. "Wonder how long this rock has been in the river?" The river rushes, high, wide and dirty. The roar covers every sound except the roar of the bikes. 

The boot starts to flap and lose pieces.

We rumble out, low and throaty over the roar of the river. We ride our favorite curves winding toward home. Red, white and blue. Old Glory hit the broadside of that barn.  In and out of the shadows. In and out of the warm. The trees are dark with patches of green bright light. Lilacs as tall as the telephone wires. A nice old Chevrolet. Hello! The Nelson's. Warm past the swamp. Old green truck (Chevrolet). Old Glory waves up and down the street. "Nice truck huh?" (blue and white Chevrolet). Sharing Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. "That's a nice car." (red Chevelle). "Nice Vette."

Three states. Seven hour journey. We come home. Water the tomatoes. Order new boots.

I love you bunches and boots - Pat

Friday Eyes

The little things in life...

JUNE

"Daisies open their innocent eyes and gaze out across the field at the roses cascading over fences."   Gladys Taber

The Process of Grief

When the Runner died I read every thing I could about grief and death. Nothing I read on the grief process fit what I was going through so I wrote it as I experienced it:

SHOCK/NUMBNESS

The first reaction to the death of a loved one is shock. This is part of God’s protection. He insulates us from the full impact of death. We may be aware of what is happening around us yet protected from the deep reality of death. We may actually experience physical numbness.

DENIAL/REALITY

As time goes on the reality of death begins to penetrate yet a part of us has not yet comprehended that the loved one is gone. We listen for the car in the driveway, still count out five snacks, or reach for the phone to call before we catch ourselves and the shock of their death hits us again. Our life becomes a long, dark winter’s night.

PAIN

Everything hurts. It hurts to breath, it hurts to eat, it hurts to go to bed, it hurts to wake up, it hurts to think, your head hurts, your heart hurts. We are deeply wounded. The pain is physical, emotional, mental and spiritual. Mixed with the pain is guilt, anger, fear and a host of other feelings. We cry and cry and cry and cry ...

DEJECTION/DEPRESSION

Life goes on but do I really care? Is there any reason to live? We have more questions than answers. We question everything we ever believed, examining our belief in God and in life itself in light of what we are experiencing. We are still struggling with anger and guilt. Life is a burden, we are tired of grieving but there is no escape. We are weary. We wake up as tired as we went to bed. We want to sleep all the time or insomnia stalks us. We are jealous of our friends who have normal lives. We feel old, beaten, trapped, hopeless, cold, and lonely. Self-pity lives with us day and night.

REAFFIRMING LIFE

In time, if we allow ourselves to heal, we learn how to live again. We find a new reality in our lives that we can live with. We move beyond our daily grief, it is no longer the focal point of our lives. We’ve found acceptable answers to some of our questions. We are forever changed. The burden of our grief is still with us but we have learned to carry it. Our loved ones are still gone, we still miss them and it still hurts but we have sweet memories, our love for them remains. We find joy and light and life is good again.

Pat Aho 2001 April 5

It seems quite short when I put it on paper like this but it was a long process. Yes, it was a very long dark cold winter that started in mid-summer but at long last Spring did arrive  with all its warmth, color and new life. Yes, I still have winter moments and even days with a chill in the air but I live in the light. Glory Hallelujah!  I live in the Light.

"C'mon Bud"

Those were the last words I heard the Runner say. His dad called him "Bud" and he called his little brother "Bud". Six years is a big age difference when you are just a toddler but the little one followed along  and the older one was happy to have him.

In the year of 1990 the construction industry in New England slows to a crawl. The Biker works twenty hours a week from May to November. It is not enough.  We are in danger of losing everything we own so we pack up our five little ones and head  west  looking for greener pastures.  We move in with my folks and the Biker goes to work full time framing for my brother.

Shortly after we arrive in February we celebrate two birthdays.  The Runner chooses gummy fish to go with the eight candles on his birthday cake.  Five days later the little one blows out two candles poked into a green frosted caterpillar.

Six months later on a summer  night they are picking up the blocks for me as I finish up the Saturday cleaning by vacuuming Mama's big living room. Later the little one tells me "We made a big castle. We used all the blocks." It is after their bath, the little one is in pajamas; the Runner is wearing his  favorite "moo cow" night shirt, an over-sized white tee shirt with a Holstein cow on it.  When they finish picking up the Runner asks "Can we go now?"  I nod. He says "C'mon Bud" and out the back door they go to see what Dad is doing in the shop. It is about 9 pm, still warm and still daylight.  In the shop Dad is working on a shelf for Grandma's laundry room. They watch him measuring and cutting for a bit then gather up a few scraps of fresh cut cedar boards and wander off.  Later I find those scraps deposited under a tree and watch as they weather untouched by the hands that placed them there.

The little one comes in and is tucked into bed. He falls asleep asking for his brother.  He is the last one to see him alive.  I later ask if he saw the Runner fall out of the tree. He leads me to a tree in the front yard.  Yes, the Runner did fall out of that tree a few days earlier. The bruise on his knee noted in the autopsy report is from that fall.

Days pass and  the little one is still wondering why his brother doesn't come home. He says "Daddy should take the Blazer and go  pick him up."  I search for words to explain to a two year old about death, about heaven.  He says " I'm going to just REACH up there and get him down." He twists his little body and  his little arm reaches as high as it can go towards heaven.  He pulls it back to himself empty handed.

Five years pass and the little one grows on his way to becoming the Writer. He dictates his thoughts to me:

He was my brother.

I'm sorry that he's gone.

I know he is safe in Heaven.

I know that he is risen.

I loved playing with him.

I most liked playing with the blocks.

He was eight when he died.

I'm sorry that he is gone

but I know him well.

I love him still.

He died in 1991.

I know he loved drawing jets.

I was two when he died.

He was good at drawing jets.

He lives inside me.

He liked his bike.

He loved riding it.

When he died it was mine.

I claimed his Legos, his bike, his racetrack.

I claimed too much stuff.

When I think about him I'm still sad.

1996 July 13

I wonder about my little ones. What happens when a sibling dies? What does it do to their little hearts? What do they miss? What do they gain? Does it make them more compassionate? Does it scar their little souls?

Years pass.  Each February we search candy aisles for gummy fish. We mix batter.  We bake cupcakes.  We tint frosting blue. We scatter sprinkles.  One year we  ship them to a sailor in Hawaii, then the next year he makes his own.  This year we make them here at home and the siblings gather and make cupcakes in Georgia. They cry. We cry. They miss us and we miss them.  We miss you "Bud".

I love you "Bud".

I love you bunches and cupcakes - Pat