The Sharp Sweet Scent

..of each other

I woke up this morning early, like every morning, said goodbye to my husband and wished him a peaceful day.

Yesterday, he spent the day doing the hard work he’s always done on a daily basis, except this time was to help our daughter do demolition on her kitchen. Despite how busy he is and full of life for his music, cycling, you name it, he stepped up to help.

I think I’ve mentioned along the way how we love. We all love differently.

Seeing how each of us loves is key.

My husband has spent a lifetime loving people through helping with physical work or physically working so that others can benefit in various ways. He has also been expressive in his opinions, learning along the way, beaten up by life, in hopes his opinions will help.

Today, I was thinking about my dad and how he loved the same. How he worked, created and expressed opinions in order to save, or so he thought. We all grow at our own pace and learn through our own experiences and perhaps, at this stage, I am more deeply in that head space of, “my dad was right.”

Some day, we will all reflect back on these things.

Late this morning I was wandering the lanai and reached for my Madeleine L’Engle book, “The Ordering of Love.” I had hoped to find comfort in something she wrote in there, while I was thinking about my dad, brushing off the immense amount of dirt from my husbands work clothes. I had to take a hose to them before I could use the soak selection on my washer. I don’t know why I chose her book. My mind always hoping John’s lungs, his body, will not give out again, like they did a few weeks ago. He had been digging and back-filling on a job, relentlessly for weeks, and just couldn’t get up for a few days. The only other time that happened was when he got Covid, after my dad died. He couldn’t get up for almost 3 weeks. I thought of this block and mortar house that just about did him in, working to rebuild our life.

..and back to my dad and searching for something to fill my heart.

It was exactly 9:56 a.m. when I sent the first reading I saw in the book to my youngest son, Ian.

Sonnet 2, from Uncollected Poems, circa 1998

I told Ian, (as we had recently been discussing my mom’s continued grief in heavy spurts) “this is how it must feel for grandma, in these words,” and that I was “sobbing.” I followed up with “I never want to lose dad.” I was washing the same clothes I have washed for 38 years. Full of hard work, sweat..and love.

This is how grief feels in closets.

At exactly 10:22 a.m. John called me to ask for a number of another construction worker for our daughter’s home. Just before we hung up he said, “you might want to call Ian. He called me early this morning and it was unusual, but he had had a very vivid dream and he was upset.” He didn’t say anything else.

I called Ian and without going into details he told me that his dream was about the gathering of our family at a memorial for his dad. It was so vivid that it took him completely off-guard in a way that it was also really hard for me. At first, he didn’t believe that I sent that poem without knowing about his dream.

I had no idea.

At the same time he had looked at his sister’s social media, in his dream, and she had posted a picture of her dad giving her away at her wedding.

Through my tears, all that my mind can muster up, is we must cherish each other.

Cherish what God has given us.

Cherish the sharp sweet scent of each other.

Cherish.