I remember nights we stayed up dreaming. Yahtzee game after Yahtzee game, the only interruption a little baby boy who wanted to snuggle.
Worries of non organic broccoli, or BPA filled plastic.
Full Saturday’s spent in our pajamas. Supper becoming cold as my husband arrived 30 minutes late from work constituted a tragedy.
Now what I’d give to just have one come home every night.
A set of surprise flowers to add a little flare to an ordinary day.
A smile walking through the door.
Some days I dream of that girl.
The girl who hadn’t been squelched by tragedy.
It put things into perspective.
It added heavy thoughts and fears to the top of the list.
Sometimes I miss those trivial topics, the ease.
The world feels different now. weighty, and heavy.
Bigger things, and yet bigger things to think about.
Definitely not the weather.
And I search for that whimsy and carefree self.
Any brisk connection.
Sometimes entertaining mundane conversation to feel a little nostalgic.
The ones who remind me of her, they are my favorite.
The moments where I get caught up dancing with the boys, or muddy from head to toe.
I chase adventure because it reminds me that not everything has to hold so much space, so much thought.
And the best moments are the ones where we just are, merely but fully alive.
Something comes back to me when I stand out looking over the ocean with my boys, or let myself escape in an easy read.
Because the weight of loss crushed me and with it life lost its whimsy.
What I would give to talk about the weather.
And care about broccoli.
Once we know certain truths of life, and the Gravity of the moment, there is no reversing.
There is no unlearning, unbreaking.
A different person rises from the ashes.
But we can still chase the waves, the laughter.
Desperate for the ignorance, of life as it was.
We search for that connection, whimsy yet again.
Come lets stand beside the ocean.
Maybe we could talk about the weather.