Kept Angels

I work at being a positive person.  I remind myself of my blessings.  However, comfort and perceived hardships both blur the lines defining good fortune and some things divine may be taken for granted or simply ignored.  Holidays help trigger sentiment and stir up joy enough to revisit what we are thankful for.  Perhaps that is part of the merriment and good cheer.  By the end of this weekend, I was feeling particularly good about my life.

A Saturday run held under a rainbow over bluffs against a sunrise sky was not a bad foot to begin on.  My cousin was in town and I enjoyed showing him my family and took pride in their good behavior and sweet chatterings.  Sunday morning, we rode our bikes up Gibraltar viewing the fire damage, then along Camino Ceilo staring out at impossibly perfect views, and down Painted Cave back into town.  We ate out at ice cream twice, sampled fine fresh foods in the farmer’s market, walked amongst the Mission rose garden, and finished the weekend with a trolley ride viewing the holiday lights and kitch decor ablaze throughout town. 

As our trolley bell went ding, we sang along to radio Christmas carols and munched chocolate chip cookies.  My son sat “ho ho ho-ing” in my husband’s lap and my daughter squirmed and wiggled in mine.  I fluffed her hair and kissed her hot little cheek and in the glow of red and green, I thought how wonderful life is with my family.  We continued to meander through town and my daughter grew increasingly tired and less patient with the pageantry.  She twisted herself off my lap and planted down between my feet.  I held onto her or I thought I had and eventually pulled her back atop my lap.  At that time I noticed the wall at my feet was actually a plastic flap and she had kicked it open.  I did not notice when the diaper bag fell out the child size hole between my legs.  I only realized it was gone.

I felt sick.  Not for the heap of gortex packed with discard-ables lying tattered somewhere on a trail of holiday lights, but for what could have happened to my daughter.  Her puffy slick jacket to slip through my grasp all too easily….I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed until she protested.

I lay down last night and waited for the guilt to subside.  My husband drifted into sleep and the rain pattered heavily on our roof.  My teeth felt loose from my clenched jaw and I hid my face in my hands.  I tucked her in again.  I kissed her almost to the point of waking her and then I just stared, paced, kissed, and stared.  Eventually sleep came to me.

My neighbor lost her 21 year old son in an automobile accident this year.  A few short weeks ago a friend lost her 5 year old daughter to illness.  Today another friend attends the funeral of her friend who lost her battle to colon cancer.  She leaves behind two young sons.  I wonder if I am thankful enough.  How impatient and self centered I become.  How tired.  How fed up.  The job of caretaker is often overwhelming and I crave independence.  How sad I would be if this came true.

Last Christmas, I boarded a plane for Texas to visit my family.  My son yanked and cried at my leg and my daughter kicked in the baby bjorn strapped to my chest.  An older woman sensitive to my stress remarked, “God Bless you.”  To which I replied, “He already DID, now he has to help me!”  And he has been.

I have every resource that love can fill and I hope that it spills over into my children, two little angels kept by my side for only this short while.  How sweet a song it is if I choose to listen.

~ by drea on December 15, 2008.