Friday, November 09, 2007


I carried around this sadness like a wet sack of sand today, the peculiar sadness that comes from acknowledging another's grief.
At home today, I immersed my arms in hot soapy dishwater and admired the late afternoon sun which sprawled through the frost-bent grass behind our house, making me squint my eyes in pleasure. But then I thought of her grief, and I was broken afresh.
At school today, the third and fourth grade choir sang Christmas lyrics with unabashed glee ("Dashing, dashing, dashing, dashing, dashing through the snow..." ) while humorously nudging each other about their musical cleverness. I sat at the piano, watching their notes tumble by, when a dissonant pang interrupted my reverie. Someone I care about is low, so very low with sorrow. She is far away in Italy, but I want to help carry a piece of her torn heart.
This evening, I approached 57 Market to retrieve #1 Son. He was waiting for me there alone, and all the lights were off except a few soft lamps in the far back corner. I lingered on the noisy street and peered through the storefront windows at his Paganini-like figure. He stood on the carpet in the glow of the dim wattage and played his violin in the warm light, his bow moving up and down as if under water, as if in a dark dream. I couldn't hear the music, but I knew from his movements what it sounded like. I opened the door and I heard it streaming across the tiled floors, coming to me as I knew it would.
If I could open the door to heaven to her so her ragged questions would be answered, I would do so. Instead I pray for her, which is sort of like opening doors, anyway. Doors of grace, peace, comfort, and assurance be yours, Elizabeth. May you look with faith through the window and though your eyes be flooded with tears and your hope worn away by fierce rains, may you know that the music is on the other side. Waiting for you.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

This is absolutely beautiful, Nancy. -Ann M.

8:17 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home