Thursday, November 28, 2013
The bald eagle that flew down river yesterday, right past my window. The small rafts of ice that are gathering, clumping together on the frigid surface, gliding past with a noise that I get to hear all night long. The smell of the snow and downed leaves as my son and I walk to the post office together. We don't have to talk, we just walk and absorb the sights and smells of a winter day. The feeling that to be alive is enough, and yet so much more.
The boy who lets me be his mama. The quiet, thoughtful soul who says more with his eyes than his words, which is perfectly fine with me. The healthy little heart of his, the strong body, the soft skin, the clear eyes, the curious mind. He is all of me and all of his dad, and yet he is better, somehow. He is more than us, and it makes me wonder what fireworks we created when he became more than just matter. Sure, every parent thinks their child is special. I think mine is special for me. Not for you. Just for me.
The man who lets me be me. The one who, after 6 years, I still want to write poetry for, but not the flowery kind. The naughty kind you give to someone when nobody else is looking, because you hope they take you up on your offer. The man who fights me back, who lets me win, but reminds me that while I may be right, I am also a giant pain in the ass, and for that, I love him more. The wonderful man who sighs and let me snuggle up to his back at night, even though I am impossible to sleep comfortably next to. He give me presents of books, he reminds me that I forgot to take the trash out, he works harder for us. He comes home to tell me how this woman he saw today doesn't stack up against me, and how he couldn't imagine being with anyone else. He is my comedy and I, his comic book.
The home, the yard, the car, the dogs, the cats, the friends, the shoes on my feet, the ability to type this. The things I am thankful for will go on forever, ever getting smaller and smaller...the functioning mitochondria that make each day possible. And bigger and bigger: the enormous star-studded black sky, in which I can name the constellations to my son.
The family. I cannot elaborate more, they are too much. Too much to describe because there are too many, too noisy, too wonderful. Just keep classy, Curry Family.
Life. You honor me with your presentation of wonderful choices. Thank you.
God. You nameless thing, you. You are the alpha and the omega. You remind me of how very small and how incredibly enormous I really am, all in the same millisecond.
This year has been good. Next year will be better. Happy Thanksgiving, world.
Posted by Kate Rowan