[ Tuesday, June 10, 2003 ]
Beautiful, random conversation today with my dad about love.
One of those discussions that just suddenly appears out of nowhere...and you're just stunned, mesmerized by the moment & perhaps, by the words coming out of someone's mouth.
We were on the subject of stepchildren...could someone love another's child as easily as they love their own?
Then the topic came to first marriages. First loves. What is love exactly?
Dad, in his quirky little vague way said "After you've been married to someone for 13, 15 yrs...nobody can take their place. You might love again, marry again. But I'll just put it this way, nobody else is going to sweep you off your feet.
Shwew. Talk about bringing tears to a girl's eyes.
I instantly applied that to our own lives.
And felt like such a blessed, blessed child.
The product of such deep, intense love.
I wonder sometimes, if anything I do reminds him of my mother. My aunt caught me clicking my flip flops one day & said "Barbie, used to sit & do that same thing." Little tidbits like that...make me full. When my dad tells me about her temper, her stubborness...how she walked out of Walker's Creek through two counties because he pissed her off & she wouldn't get in the car with him...how she threw a butcher knife at him when they first got married...how it stuck in the door...how he knew right then he had a hellion on his hands. I see myself in those moments. Having been told "You're a mean little shit, but I love you." I really can see myself walking out of that creek, madder than a wet hen.
I remember the kind, loving woman...who took everyone & their grandfather in. Our house was always open to people who didn't have anywhere to go. That type of kindness, devotion is what I remember about her. Christmas time--she painted every window, mirror in our house with winter scenes. Every Halloween we painted pumpkins & scattered them through the house & on the porch. Birthdays--nothing expensive, but she spent hours stenciling letters, making banners, blowing up balloons, baking cakes. And Scott & I really felt like...we were the most important people in the world on that day. Every day.
After her first spell in the hospital (She spent the winter in intensive care after gall bladder surgery.) Scott & I baked her a get well cake. I was seven. Scott, I believe was five or six. It was the ugliest thing...either of us has ever made. Blue & purple icing everywhere. A couple years ago, that image just stuck in the back of my head. Our little hands. And how we just wanted her to get better...to come home. How we just wanted to heal her. Or make her feel like the most important woman in the world.
In my old photo albums I have a picture of my mom & I think, one of my aunts...8 months pregnant, laying in the sun in blue bikinis. To me that is the most beautiful image...I could have been left with. Two young women, flaunting their life-giving ability.
Really...that's how we should view ourselves. We are so beautiful...because our bodies hold, cradle. Because our laps accomodate children & babies. Because our hands clasp other hands. Or wipe tears. Or check foreheads. Or hold hair back from a face. Because, despite what might be hurting us, when need is sensed...our bodies go toward it...gravitate. Just wanting to, in some way, alleviate the ache.
Touch is such a healing, healing thing.
Much love. I'm nostalgic.
~ Rebecca 1:51 AM [+]
