Six days of processing my grief intellectually and patting myself on the back for moving away from my emotions have been undone by this springtime Saturday morning.
Here’s what happened: I was cleaning my kitchen, passed through the laundry room to put something away, looked out through the window to the north and instantaneously a cumulus cloud skirting across the sky to the east and and its shadow following below on the sunny barren grass crossed through my vision.
Instantly I felt his hand in mine and the salty vernal air of our seaside park. Saturday. In the space of two and a half years, Saturdays had become the days I spent with him. So many weekends I’d arrive on Saturday around noon, after the long drive from Vermont, feeling myself heading towards him like a moth heading towards her flame.
So many Saturday arrival embraces, so many Saturday tumbles in bed upon my arrival. So many Saturday mornings woken up together, when he would bring me coffee and make me breakfast (did he ever know how grateful I was for him making me breakfast? did he think I took him for granted? Is that why?) And then, after breakfast, a nice long sunny walk.
So many spring time walks with him on eternal Saturday mornings. His hand, always the light pressure of his hand in mine and the rays of our souls joining. Out by the cannons, down to see the painted dragon. Seeing the same things at the same times. And I would point out at the boats along the horizon and ask him what kind they were and he always knew. He always knew. Now he walks Saturday mornings with someone else. Is he with her now? Is he now holding her hand? I hope he doesn’t take her to our park. I hope he doesn’t show her our buffleheads.
The time we saw the seal basking on the rock! Does he remember this, when he is with her? Does he remember me, and our buffleheads and the seal? Or does he see the same things with her now that he used to see with me, do they see the same things in the same way and talk about them, the color of the sea, the way the wind blows through the grass, the names of all the flowers and which colors we like best, does he share all this with her now, our world, which now is gone?