Little things.
A sniff from a neighboring room; his bouncing knee under the dinner table beside me; a warm hug at five o'clock.
Little things, little things.
A used tissue on the bedside table next to his pillow; toothpaste flicks on the mirror above his sink; the drivers seat of my van pushed back so far that I could play a game of Yatzee in front of the pedals.
Little things, little things, little things. Little things that bring with them a message that Life is Happening Here. Like emotional burrs, these little things snag in the tender, fleshy parts of my heart as I brush by them and make my heart stir and swell with a complicated mix of emotions. Happiness, beauty, hope, love, fear... and, always, a little ribbon of pain.
A football game on my calendar; a pair of crumpled up basketball shorts lying ever so close to the laundry basket; breakfast smells coming from downstairs before my feet hit the floor.
His picture bouncing on my screen to the ringtone; the garbage and recycling bins traveling out and in from the side of the road; the warm spot on his pillow just after he rises.
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Behind my house I can see a mountain from its tip to its base. A gorgeous mountain with high peaks and jagged edges. When the morning sunlight hits it, it glows red and orange and its beautiful texture shreds the sunshine and blocks its light from deep pockets of shadow. I love this mountain, and it has found a place in my life as my Symbol of Beauty here in the desert.
In front of this mountain are miles and miles of desert, and the desert land closest to me, just across the road, has been zoned for development. When the houses go up, my view of that beautiful mountain will be blocked. I've heard many rumors, but I don't really know how much longer I have to enjoy the mountain in the way I do now. It could be a year... it could be ten... but knowing that my time with it is limited, I have appreciated its majesty and beauty in tangible ways. Whether it's in pausing my dinner prep to walk outside to stare at the magnificent sunset around it, or in pulling my car to the side of the road on my way out of the neighborhood to soak in the way the light is playing on its edges, or in taking the time to gather the kids around me to point out the interesting colors on its face.
I am enjoying deeply whatever time I have left with that mountain.
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His giant shoes leaving no room for the rest of ours in the basket; his jacket hanging on the back of a chair; the way my heart still pulls when I see him from across a crowded room.
I try not to think about Brian's heart attack much, and even less about the mysteries around what that means for our future. But it happens anyway, this thinking. And perhaps that's not such a bad thing every once in a while. We could have seconds... we could have decades... but knowing that my time here with him is limited, as it is with all of us, I find myself deeply appreciating the majesty and beauty that he brings to my life and into our home through the little, little things that say I'm here.
Tiny whiskers around his sink; his wet toothbrush in the cup next to mine; his baritone laugh mixed in with the children's...
Little things.
Enjoy the little things in life, the saying by Kurt Vonnegut goes, because one day you'll look back and realize they were the big things.
