a pause: "just love me"

today owen and i finally paused after an emotional and hectic couple of weeks--the moment of pause was definite: he screamed after his ears popped and didn't stop screaming until we ran to CVS to get some benadryl to relieve the sinus pressure in his ears and head. he had been coughing and congested for a week now, and the doctor's advice was a spoonful of honey (of course i had to sing some mary poppins) and if necessary some benadryl. the entire time he was crying, furious and demanding to know WHY his ears hurt so badly, his only real request of me was this: "mommy, just love me."

nana's here now giving him a bath and i've got 7 essays left to grade and only three classes left to prep for and this pause seems to be the moment i'd been looking for all week when i could thoughtfully reflect on all that had happened in this tragic week and make some sense of it all.

and the facts are these: last thursday michael got a call from his dad that his aunt marilyn had suddenly passed away. friday we got confirmation that there would be a service in washington. saturday we made plans to be with his family and leave owen with my parents. sunday we flew up to seattle and monday we spent the day in mourning with his family--the sisters, children, grandchildren, parents, sons, and the nexus of love that grew from there. tuesday michael went to sweden and i came back home.

my memories of marilyn are like snapshots--a smile in connie's kitchen; a hug at diane's after eating one of mike's feasts; a glimpse at my own son as she found michael's beautiful features in his face. she is and was a beautiful woman and i am blessed to overlap in her circle of love and family.

and for me, rather than a bible verse that reminds us all that we are on borrowed time with our loved ones i keep thinking of virginia woolf; rather, mrs. dalloway--this day, this moment in june, what she loved was life. and i think it's the same. i think that what we all mean when we say death makes us appreciate life, loss makes us thankful for love is what woolf strived for as an artist, as a writer: live for this otherwise unextraordinary day, because our connections with one another are in themselves extraordinary. it's what owen demanded of me today: just love me.