The magic that is a child (this is not a year-end recap)

Every morning I am awoken by Hawk climbing into bed with me; my mattress is on the floor and he delights in the ease with which he can snuggle down next to me.  Today was no different.

Yet, somehow, today is different.  Just a little.

It's my 5 year anniversary.

I feel some sadness about this, though it's more like I feel a kind of heavy pressure regarding its presence rather than any real emotion about it.  Maybe it's more accurate to say, I think I feel some sadness about today.

Hawk rustled under the covers and my eyes blinked open to see the sunlight streaming in over the back of his spiky bedhead.  His little shoulder rising and falling with his breath accompanied by a slight motion from rubbing his blankie between his thumb and forefinger.

Then he rolled over and we were nose to nose looking deeply into each other's eyes.  His dark brown lashes blurred into white tips as they caught the soft light and his cobalt blue irises reflected me back like a tiny, tiny mirror.  Everything else in the universe ceased to exist as I stared at myself in his eyes.  He lifted his hand, placed it on my face gently and said, "It is a good day."

The last five weeks have been incredible; such a tangle of every emotion possible.  I am happier than I've been in years, yet I am also sad; I'm angry, I'm at peace; I hurt, I rejoice.  The death of my marriage has conjured up the ghosts from my father's and Levi's deaths and I have re-experienced that pain all over again, as well.  Apparently, despite my grief over these things being so vastly different, they're still all in a "grief file" in my brain and when I pull out one, I revisit the others whether I want to or not.

Grief aside, life is pretty fucking ok.

Rooster and I are doing well.  We have our moments of locked horns, but just as in our marriage our separation and road to divorce is full of decorum and respect.  We're like little barnyard goats, not bighorn sheep.  I couldn't ask for a better man in my life than him to share this with -- is it weird to say I wouldn't want to divorce anyone else but him??  I think you get the point: his kind, gentle intelligence is serving us now just as it did when we were working to stay together.

My friends have been supportive and caring; gently reaching out, but never crowding me.  I've had some incredibly low moments this month and if it weren't for the steady trickle of concern from far and wide my pain surely would have run away with me.  Thank you to all of you.  I cannot imagine my life without you.

Tuesday, January 4th, Hawk starts day care.  Full time.  I got him enrolled in an amazing school which is centered around child-led play.  Seventy-five children, aged 18 months to 5 years, run amok playing with potions, piles of sand, old tires, and the ugliest castoff toys I've ever seen which somehow magically turn into the shiniest, most spectacularly special toys when I use the eyes of my youth.

A lot has been going on, yes... yet, I haven't been dreading today as you might think.  I believe in regular days and their mundane power and try not to give importance to arbitrary dates (with the singular exception of Hawk's birthday and those days which those I love find important).  I'm having some of my dearest friends over tonight, people who were at my wedding 5 years ago, and Rooster has asked to join us.  Of course I said he was more than welcome.

So I will be ringing in the New Year much the same as I did five years ago: with hope, with expectation, with love and friends surrounding me.  The biggest difference now is that everyday I have a small, cherubic face to remind me what a good day it is today lest I forget.

And as his early morning words faded into the space over our heads comfortably cradled in my down pillows he moved his hand to rub my arm.  He took a small breath and added to his assertion about today's goodness, "You are so precious."

Indeed, I thought, but it's more like lucky. I am so, so lucky.


10:01 am

I forgot how happy this little guy full of Turkish coffee makes me.


7:51 am

In the painful pre-dawn hours of morning - with the windows backlit a dusky rose - he chipperly joined me in bed. It's almost 8 now and he's perpendicular to me with his feet on my hip. Guess he wasn't quite ready to meet the day at dawn, huh?



Last night after almost an entire bottle of wine and hours of packing I lay exhausted on the couch.  A log burned silently and hotly beside me, Christmas music played through the TV.  I'd already packed the afghan so I curled up under throw pillows spooning Digby.

An hour later I woke up tense and cold, and bewildered.  I'd dreamed about Rooster.  He'd been sitting on the couch and lifted his arms to me wide, welcoming me to sit on his lap.  I felt such relief as I let him pull me down into his warm, safe embrace.  I knew everything was going to be ok now; I was in his capable arms after all, how could things not be ok?

Something about this sense of relaxation woke me up, stirred me from beyond.  This isn't right, I thought.  NO.  I'm doing this alone.

Then I turned out the lights, left the cats curled on their chairs by the fire and crawled into my own bed ignoring the labeled boxes that have replaced decorations this season.

I move tomorrow.