A moment is as fleeting as the reflection of the heavens cast off of the icy rivers of winter. No two will ever be the same, no ripple will bend a moment at that exact angle again. Grasp it, hold it tight to your chest, never let it go. July 7th, cradled on my husband’s hip, ruffled hair, sleepy eyes, adjusting. Green alligator pajamas. I touched his soft, chubby arm. Kissed his cheek. He pulled away, in his independent Ben way, wanting daddy in that moment. My fingertips brushed his hair out of his face “You’re too pretty to be a boy.” I love you Ben, my fingers spoke. Those are the moments. That is your life.
Life is only a snapshot of existence. Love transcends, energy transforms. In the clear, starry night sky, I adjust aperture, searching for the clear brightness of his smile, click. Only darkness. I adjust shutter speed, reality blurred, in the evanescence looking for wisps of his hair, click. Only smudges of light. Where are you Ben? I can see the tiny light of your reflection, fleeting, the glint in your father's eyes, but cannot capture you. That moment, which may have been.
Time is at once both an unfailing absolute, in its passing, and a fleeting uncertainty, in its indiscriminate toll. As the hands of our lives turn, matching the beating rhythm of our heart, time may one day, in an instant, find its way full circle absent and incomplete. With part of that hour, day, year missing. And, transitory, life passes.
God is love. Both defy explanation. No words, just being. Breathing. It is. Love does not heal the broken places, but it serves as a glue of sorts, as we find beauty, once again, in the puzzle pieces that were our life. Love supports and replenishes.
Grief is primal; loss is visceral; love is physical, painful and comforting; living is spiritual.
There are very few things, in this moment, of which I am certain. But, this I know to be true.