With a fat Sharpie, I draw a smiley face and sign the card, I love you, Aunt Alison. When I close it, a yellow duck in boots and hat of purple glitter smiles back at me. I put a stamp on the envelope and put the card in the stack of other cards to be mailed.
To everything
There is a season
And a time for every purpose
under heaven
I know the Easter cards will bring broad smiles to the girls. Perhaps the one I send my mother will do the same for her, and the one sent to the boy. It's important he know I think of him.
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
He faces decisions he's placed before himself. Stay. Go. Soon, he'll stumble over his memory, gash his heart with shards of his shattered illusions. It's necessary but when it's all said and done, my heart will be broken again. He'll hang his head and have a better idea of the easy road maybe not being the one worth taking. The painful lessons, those you want for them, save for the part you know will hurt, they're the ones that can take you down.
To everything
There is a season
And a time for every purpose, under heaven
Tomorrow they'll talk on the phone. Mother and son who have not spoken in ten months. It's a gamble to do this now. We're apprehensive. They both think we're keeping them apart. When they're young they have no idea what is for their own good. I'll be leaving work mid-day to shadow her, keep her away from her vices, keep her sober for the call. It's doubtful she'll be able to hold her 15 minutes but I do hope. For his sake.
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together
No one doubts her love for him. I tell him that, explain to him what it's like to outgrow a parent, to take care of a parent. He's too young to know, but not too young to hear the words. He looks across the table at me with an age young enough to think he can handle anything, and old enough to be able to decide for himself.
To everything
There is a season
And a time for every purpose, under heaven
I remember when he walked beneath the Brahma Bull at the fair. All blond and soft and fragile. Standing unknowing and fearless, carefree beneath the enormity and weight of the animal. You don't move, you don't breathe. You freeze your imagination and everything around you follows along until he turns his bright eyes to you, flashes a snaggle-toothed grin and waddles over to where you stand and you scoop him up so fast and hold on so hard that you scare him and make him cry. And you wonder if that's not the perfect definition of irony.
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing
It's like that, the fear for them, for their lives and their dreams and their beauty. You don't breathe. They're young, always fragile. You could help but they'll make you step back and watch. It's their life, after all.
To everything
There is a season
And a time for every purpose, under heaven
I write a note in his card, remind him how far he's come, how proud we are of him. I ask him to think about his decisions. I ask him to know that I believe in him. I picture him rolling his eyes at my serious tone, so I close with a big smiley face and sign off. The card is stuffed with love and clouds of hope and prayer that I imagine spilling out onto him when he opens it. Love, Aunt Alison.
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.
3 comments:
It may be, Alison, that at a time when things are very, very bad for him, in ways that he can't even imagine today, that card and that sentiment from a loving aunt will keep him on the safer side of the street. It's a good thing you, like watching out for the birds. They are hard choices to make, I think, and I admire that you make them. I hope he takes after his Aunt Alison.
a time for peace. i wish it upon you and yours, alison.
i too want people to be who we think they can be.
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