The Way we Were
I walk to the back windows of the house.
See him playing football outside with his friends.
A whole group of them end up here every day after school for a 45 minute game.
Then they are off. And he’s inside.
Socks on the floor.
Snacks.
He lets me wrestle my hands through his hair. Stroke his check once or twice.
“What’s for dinner mom”?
I can’t believe how important the small stuff is.
How I had it backwards, and often invested in creating memories with heft.
How the things we think will never matter, Matter bigly.
The memories between moments.
Like the bones of my grief.
They hold the whole journey together.
Never forsake the simple stuff.
The glances.
The routine of affection.
The style and quality of our easy, everyday love.
How present we are in the crevices of our day.
It turns out this IS the biggest thing.
It builds the infrastructure of where our loved one lives inside us after they gone.
The texture of our memories. The small moments…
They continue from one side of death to another.
There’s the small moments before, the ones we take for granted, as nothing especially notable.
And how they connect to the small moments on the other side of death.
Sitting in absence.
Where the longing for one more seemingly inconsequential, nonchalant exchange, threatens to suffocate us, while simultaneously being a comfort.
Because there a million hellos and goodbyes to recall. A million small touches. Of effortless connection.
The ritual of the way we were.
I can pull the corners of this tapestry of small moment memories around me.
Let it comfort me, this cozy blanket of familiarity.
Knowing there was love. Constant love.
And known-ness. That we are known to each other is the greatest gift of all.
Rashani Rea. Artist and Author has been bringing some of my words to life with these amazing collages.
