Friday, December 17, 2010

Night winds.

Last night after a whirlwind wild pack, I walked to JJ's, cutting through the night winds, thinking about the bush. Night winds rushing through space between covered ears and headphones, unveiled throat, open neck. Montreal wet on my skin. She welcomed me in with a gift, and gingerbread snowflakes prettier than anything Martha could imagine.

Today has already been such a gift. There is sorrow here, plenty of it, we are wading through it together and separately. But there is a lot of good. Part one and two of this operation (and just now Part three) have come and gone with such an incredible smoothness, blessed be. I am incredibly sad today, but also hopeful for a time in life that I do not yet know. Dicotemy town, these days. Lila has a home until the wake of transition is ripple free, also blessed be.

Three friends, Maya, Kim and Dylan (bless them) are helping me today. They are no strangers to hefting million pound boxes and it will be so funny to pile into Dylan's wee car that is home to a billion summer planting memories. These people are such good people. Dylan is forever there, driving this way and that, lazy zags on a gravel road, happy in his hat, rolling in the crease of his jeans like Bram used to in the quiet light of his home looking into the Mansion's back alley (James's face is so clear to me now in thought, studying Mandarin by lamplight across the way from Bram's table with such diligence. Miss you my friends. Can't wait to see you both at Christmas. Bram, if you read this, I would like another piece done by you. We will talk. Miss you and your family).

I am filled with thanks today. Never in one million years would I have guessed this path I am about to alight upon. Always grateful for the moments in between, past love, adventure and excitement that comes with the summer season, the slips of paper that make their way letting us know we are loved and not forgotten. No one is forgotten in my life. Nor is this time something as flippant as a passing gull-like phase. This is life, such is life. We are living, we are alive, together in our togetherness of loss and love and sorrow and joy, all of it.

I carry you with me.

Thanks for the outpouring of love and patience these weeks. I cannot count how many times JJ and Lo especially have sat through countless dinners and wine swallows punctuated by my A. Marj wailings, ruminations, salutations. How many phone calls and deposits my mother has made on my behalf, I am alive because of her half of the time. How many times Grandma has dipped cookies into hot tea in my name, how many prayers at the dinner table from Grandpa and my Dad. How many bathtub bawls A. Daryl has taken in and then somehow managed to send me back on my dripping way with feelings of strength, pride and affirmation. How many hours Mitch has held me, ran fingers through my hair to calm, scratched my heaving back, and been there for me. You are an incredible man. How many letters from Tiny Moms. Andrea, blessed your baby be. Every one of you and so many more, I love you. How many names I have not mentioned, you are not forgotten. You are all appreciated, a trillionfold.

It is time to go now, time to begin again.

The birth of.

I wrote to the wind one year ago around this time without a clue in the world as to what the Year of the Tiger would sail my way. Well, whoa. To say the very least. Dear Wind, okay. Ready when you are.



  1. Hey Meg,
    Winds shift, the Tiger is also a shifty feline, tigress. (what is your e-mail address?)

  2. meg_kroeker at the hot dot com. Dear James, thanks for writing. I miss you so. Safe travels homeward, we will all be waiting.