I woke up this morning from one of those dreams where we were all still a family. Just going about some mundane business of the day in close proximity to each other, completely clueless that this would not go on forever, casual conversation, little familial irritations floating harmlessly on the deep waters of love . You boys were not little kids but still young enough not to be young men either. The thing is, you are never aware of how devastatingly beautiful a family really is until you are looking back at it. I wish some divine orchestrator was up there after all and that It would look down upon me and say, "What would it hurt to give her at least one of these dreams every single night until she dies?"
I made a soup for dinner two nights ago and bought a new good bread to try. We looked in the pantry for a bottle of red wine to open to go with it and there was only one. Tyler said, "This is a blend, that means Dad must have bought it 'cause that was his thing, remember?
Should we drink it or save it for a special occasion because this would be the last bottle of wine we have that he bought?"
And I thought, "What could be more special than this? This sad and beautiful night in which we two sit across from each other over good food, remembering you and your Dad together but each of us also alone, remembering you privately in our own unique griefs. Feeling the lump rising in the throat and swallowing it down, raising the glasses to you and to ourselves and to all the world's sadness."