More Weird Than Usual

This has been a very strange day. I slept too late; left the stove burner on, on "high" while I got dressed; drove down the lane with my cup of tea on the top of the van; and, I cried a lot today. The crying doesn't feel bad, just unbidden.

Today my youngest grandson, Julian, is sixteen and I know it is a tough day for him. He won't get what he wants for his birthday because his gift list is far bigger and more expensive than his family can afford. In fact, it is bigger and more expensive than we all can afford even if we pooled our resources. (Oh, to be a grandma with enough money to lavish him with gifts!) I lost track of time this evening and neglected to call and wish him a happy birthday. Somehow the fact that his birthday card was mailed Monday doesn't relieve my regret about my failure to speak to him.

Sadly, I have faced this situation before. Keeping track of time is my biggest failing - in my opinion, anyway. I forget what day it is, when anniversaries and birthdays are, and forget to acknowledge such occasions in a timely fashion. Thankfully, my family members, children, and friends have a great deal of patience, and love, regardless of my thoughtlessness. My failings, my shortcomings, my mistakes, and the effects they have on those I love, float around like fallen leaves on my tears.

Another of my grandsons, Jake, is about to be deployed to Iraq. I can't say it out loud without crying. War -a lonely and evil thing. It takes people away, by distance, or illness, injury, and death. I am powerless to protect Jake and no prayers or tears of mine will change the reality of his departure. This war is a noxious battle of power and pride and desire for supremacy. My tears for Jake are among the pools, lakes, rivers and oceans of tears shed by so many women as their loved ones leave for battle.

I had to buy a new broom today. Why would buying a broom make someone cry? Because the other one is worn out, old and falling apart, leaving straw bits behind when I sweep. Today Julian is 16...this week Jake leaves for the war...my son's baby shoes are sitting on the table...I am feeling old, a bit worn out and used up. I leave groans behind when I get out of the chair...I know that I am not as strong or as fast as I was a few years ago. I left the burner on and the cup on top of the car, I cried when I bought a broom, and I forgot to call my grandson on his birthday. My faults, frailties, and failures seem easier to remember than the dates and days that I want to remember.

Today I bought a plastic box, a container for the mementos of my son, his life, and death. One day, when I think I can bear it, I will put his birth certificate, baby book, report cards, and other remembrances from his childhood in there. Then I will add his death certificate, dried flowers from his funeral, photos of his grave, and the little pieces of his truck that I picked up at the accident scene. Perhaps the plastic box will protect the things better than the cardboard box did. He died on Jake's 21st birthday...Jake deploys this week...I can't protect him...I forgot to call Julian. Dates and times, events and activities, remembering and forgetting...brooms, boxes and tears...

Things today really seem more weird than usual. Thoughts and memories are crowding my mind. My memories of the past and fears about the future are as abundant as the straws falling from the old broom. Tomorrow I must call both of my grandsons. I cannot get lost in my life and forget. I will call Julian and wish him "happy birthday." I will call Jake and say "good bye for now." I will cry and the tears will not feel bad, they will be unbidden.