The buds on LFG’s dance recital roses were tighter last weekend when we got home and put them in water. I was as always, bursting with that loving and rather deep-in-the-bones…best known by parents caliber…primal joy over my not so tiny dancer’s performance. And I was amidst that all too rare for me these days, rather deep-in-the-bones…best known by parents…primal feeling that all was right in the world because my baby was safely tucked by my hands, in her bed, fast asleep.
And this morning I am sick…In that rather deep-in-the-bones…best known by everyone caliber…primal, gut-punched grief that for the last half hour, sees me convulsing with tears and heartache. There are parents in Connecticut who last weekend, felt the same bursting, loving deep-in-the-bones joy over simply, their little ones’…existence. And the holidays are always magnifiers and accelerators of every emotion so surely, especially with the younger ones, there was mounting, almost giddy enthusiasm about Santa and Chanukah and other family, community and school friends holiday happenings. Maybe even a Christmas Pageant at school or church.
My little girl’s rosebuds are now unfurled flourishes. Surely there’s nothing remarkable or haughty about it. Except the arrogance that I unintentionally had—all week long—assuming that today, Saturday, would see her flowers in bloom and her very existence on this earth assured.
I don’t know what to do. I wish that I could go to Connecticut and just sit and wail with the surely inconsolable families who assumed with innocent arrogance that today, their Saturday, would be just like mine.
Onward. Painfully but lucidly.