 “Tomorrow is a special day”, I say.
“What day is it?” she asks. “It’s the day that George became spirit.” “Oh yeah!” she flashes her big smile at me, and remembers. “July 22. That means it’s my birthday in 9 days.” A fact she will never forget. “It really is a special day,” she declares. “What are we going to do for him?” We begin to list off the possibilities.
Today marks the sixth anniversary of your passing, though it feels strangely similar to the first. Your daughter and me, alone at home, the world around us forever changed. The grief in this sixth year is palpable, encompassing, wrenching -- and for once, it is not about you. You, instead, are the foundation I lean upon when life becomes unsteady. You are the faith I have that everything will be okay.
I won’t bore you with the details. You already know that the coronavirus has all but halted our lives, that my acupuncture practice closed its doors mere weeks after opening, that schools are closed and play dates are cancelled, and we see none of this letting up anytime soon. You know that my mother was diagnosed with stage four sarcoma in May, that we have been caring for her through scans and surgeries and treatments, all the while terrified of exposing her and my dad to this novel virus that has taken over half a million lives. You know that the violence and inequities placed upon our brothers and sisters of color continue to plague us, that a country founded on racist ideology cannot change without a disproportionate amount of suffering, bloodshed, and tears, that the road ahead is marred with adversity. You know that the collective grief in our world at present is more than most of us have ever been asked to endure. You know that we are hitting a tipping point. Something is about to shift. I woke this morning to Nova, climbing into my arms to snuggle, as she does most mornings. Tony stirred soon after, and we lay there, the three of us together, resting contentedly with our arms intertwined.
“Are you awake?” I asked Nova. “Yes, I’m awake,” she replied, her crisp yet delicate five-year old voice slicing through the morning air. I kissed her head, squeezed her a little tighter. One at a time, we rose from the bed. Tony headed downstairs to make breakfast and coffee, as he does most mornings. Nova picked out a dress her daddy might like. “He liked red, didn’t he mama?” “Oh yes, he loved all the colors.” Two years ago today, over 200 of us gathered in Tilden Park to say our goodbyes to George Schnakenberg III, to tell stories of his life and to give thanks for what a vibrant, open-hearted, adventurous and lovable man he was. After watching these speeches, I am amazed once again by the legacy he left behind, and the love, kindness and appreciation that we all felt that day in his honor. I am amazed by my own ability to sit in front of a crowd, 5 days after his death and 4 days before giving birth, and speak with a calm knowing and inner strength that only George could have given me. And, I am so very grateful.
I am grateful for everyone who participated in planning the memorial, from choosing the site and inviting the people to designing the altars and displays, from hooking up sound and giving speeches to bringing food and making grilled cheeses. I am grateful for everyone who showed up, on such short notice, to sit in the heat of the summer so that we could all be together for such a wild and momentous occasion. And I am grateful for all the people who have made me feel loved and held over the last two years, through so many acts of kindness and generosity, too many people to list and too many gifts to name. You have made an indelible impact on my life and I want to say, sincerely, Thank You. I would not have made it here without you.  Me and Nova, today. July 22, 2016. And just like that, it’s been two years.
Sometimes it feels like the snap of my fingers, and other times it feels like I’ve been climbing this mountain for a hell of a long time. But this is Life. Life in its purest form. Pain and heartbreak and love and beauty, collapsed into a single moment in time. At once taking me hostage while liberating me from a life void of meaning; capturing me in all of its intensity while freeing me from ease and boredom. My life is rich with experience and emotion. The past two years have been nothing short of spectacular. |
|
RSS Feed
