3.13.2021

My grandfather died late last night as my grandmother sang him to sleep.

His death wasn’t unexpected. It wasn’t a shock to the family. It was slowly, softly closing the back cover at the end of a book. It was good book and he is at peace.

The sun still rose this morning, bringing with it a sense of catharsis. The death of my last grandfather reminds me that I am growing older. And so is my mother, my father, my aunts and uncles, my grandmother. One day, they will pass, too.

I know that I am lucky. In the light of day, I get to watch my babies run and play. I get to watch them fight over a toy truck, dump out a cup of yogurt and rub it into the table, chase each other around the backyard. Their lives are just beginning. They are oblivious of what is in those final pages.

Many, many years ago, someone watched my grandfather play. They watched him jump in puddles and throw mud. They comforted him when he cried, tucked him in at night.

My grandfather died late last night.

Somewhere else, a baby was born.

I hope that one day, someone sings me to sleep as well.

King Alfred’s Candle

A little boy is playing in a yard.

He is filling the bed of a yellow dump truck up with sand from the sandbox. Once full, he will run it in circles on the grass, leaving a small trail to mark where he has been.

His sister is digging holes at the base of the newly planted apple tree, hunting for worms. The worms will be placed in a bucket and forgotten to a crispy purgatory of their own in a matter of hours.

Occasionally, their paths cross when he tries to take a worm and she dumps the sand out of the truck.

Neither aware of the woman standing at her kitchen window, watching them.

Watching them play in a world of their own. Marveling at just how much they have grown since last summer and just how much growing they both have left to do.

She remembers a nameless nurse placing a tiny bundle in her arms. She remembers bringing each of them home from the hospital. Each time, still amazed that this new life is her responsibility. She remembers holding each one of them thinking that this baby will never be so small again; it will never fit so neatly in her arms as it does tonight.

Memories dance in front of her eyes — midnight nursing snuggles, first foods, first words, first steps. The pain of those sleepless nights forgotten, washed in nostalgia. First day of schools — with backpacks bigger than torsos and smiles brighter than the sun, stepping onto the school bus, barely looking back to say goodbye. They will be back in a matter of hours, but time moves differently now.

Time is now marked by school days and days off; by shoes with worn soles and pants inches too short; by the constant flow of changing artwork on the walls. The toys scattered all over the floor are still there — legos replaced wooden blocks; dolls replace stuffed animals; crayons and books are the only constant.

She stands by the window and watches them play.

She recalls the past fondly, but doesn’t allow herself to remain there. She imagines who they will become — if they’ll have his drive for achievement but her magnetism for trouble. She prays they never lose the light in their eyes; their sense of freedom and security; their fierce self-advocacy.

Her rumination is interrupted by the sound of the screen door opening and the thud of little boots; sand falling across the linoleum creating a mess for her to clean up later.

The images of the future vanish and are replaced with the voices of children in the present, asking for her, needing her.

She knows time will continue to move, as it always does. But for now, she is satisfied holding her babies and knowing that they won’t be this small for much longer.

North Fourth Street

609 N. 4th Street was good to us.

This was the first home that legally belonged to us.

We went from a family of three to a family of six in this house.

We brought two babies home from the hospital to this house.

And then one more.

Laila started crawling here.

The twins learned to walk here… and played with feces on every surface… (it’s all been sanitized many times by now.)

Liam crawled on roofs here. He also shoved toys, books, and clothes through air vents. I think we got most of it out.

Kids played so hard in the backyard that the grass refused to grow.

We had meal after meal & marshmallows over fires in the backyard with friends who became family.

It was in this house that Sam & I learned that we don’t do so well working together on renovations,

Renovations. We poured so much love into this ouse. I got my red door finally. (“I see a red door and I want it painted black”)

There was so much love in this home.

We outgrew this house at a rapid pace and found a new one.

One with more than enough room for the kids to run & play.

One with a deck that Quinn likes to pee on, apparently.

One that has locks on most of the doors — great for Mom’s bathroom privacy, not so great for mischievous children.

One with SO much grass that these kids don’t stand a chance.

One where Laila started walking.

There are so many memories at 609 N. 4th Street… and so many more to be made over on Athens Ave.

And I’m thankful that I get to live there with you, Sam.