Tuesday, February 5, 2019

Hey Mom and Dad:

I missed your phone call last week. On my birthday. Singing Happy Birthday to me. Lucky for me I can hear your voices, clear as a bell, in my heart. And, Rosemary was kind enough to send me a video that Erin had taken of you singing Happy Birthday to her husband a few years ago, so I got to see you and hear you live….so to speak.

It’s a January/February thaw kind of day today. Yesterday it was close to 60 degrees and today is supposed to be the same. My daffodils broke through the soil a few weeks ago. They always show up early. A reminder that, like them, I can get through whatever cold and darkness tries to stop me in my tracks. I miss talking to you about that. I mean, I do talk to you, but I miss hearing you respond. I missed sharing the Super Bowl with you again this year. Patriots won by the way. But I am sure you know that.

I have had a few dreams of you. A most vivid one a few weeks back sent me deep into my grief for a few days. In this dream, Mom, Cathleen and I were sitting in your bedroom. You were rocking in your rocking chair and we were each holding one of your hands. I can still feel your hand in mine. Dad, you were on the front porch in your red plaid shirt and blue Dickie work pants, with your arms open wide waiting for me, and you hugged me a bear hug that I can still feel. Thank you both for such a gift.

My birds have come back. The other day a gorgeous purple finch was at the thistle feeder and I knew you had sent it to me, Mom. A bright red cardinal decided to sit in the trough of the feeder for a half hour the other day, right at dusk, and I knew, Dad, he was sent from you. His eminence, the cardinal, and a tiny brown house sparrow visit me and still my pain when I remember how you shared your love of birds with me. The cardinals hiding in the lilac bushes in the back yard, stunning color against a falling snow. The male goldfinches shedding their brilliant yellow feathers for the dull green of winter. A nuthatch walking backwards down the old maple tree, laughing. You and mom always pointed them out to me. But my favorite little one was the house sparrow that spent the winter nights in the corner of the column on the front porch, feathers puffed up for warmth, head buried deep in his little chest. Every night, after supper, Dad, you called us to see this gift from above, snuggled on our front porch.
Right now, there are six goldfinches on my thistle feeder and about a dozen feeding from seeds on the ground. Watching these delicate creatures sparks the joy in my heart that has been hidden since you’ve been gone. Today, I can feel that spark and feel your presence all around me. Each day, I can find a moment like this and know you are with me. Some days, it is just that, a moment. Some days it’s a few hours. But I feel as if I am coming out of the darkness of the grief of your passing. I am writing music again. I am able to feel that you are with me. Since you passed, I have struggled to find you, but these days, I can feel you are with me.

So, time to sign off and go make some music. I miss your faces. I miss your laughter. I miss your singing, Mom. I miss your hugs, Dad. But I know you are here.

Talk soon.

I love you to the ends of the Universe.

Meg