it would never be in springtime….
Bob rarely talked of favorite music but he listened with a practiced ear and knowledge of the beauty. He even owned a bust of Beethoven, which I rudely relegated to the attic. Shame on me.
Once, a very long time ago, he gave me a record—“If Ever I Would Leave You.” The words are breaking my heart. I miss him more in this moment than I have on any day since he did leave me–in autumn, our favorite season.
Every spring, we worked the place side by side, sometimes late into the evening. I can hardly stand it right now, knowing that I have to handle it alone yet absolutely knowing that I cannot handle it without him.
Sam, age 4, is having a sleep-over and I have struggled with fighting the tears, hiding the emotional stuff. About two hours ago, I saw Bob standing in the yard, dumb slouch farmer hat, hitching his jeans, and chugging water. Talk about choked up. About that moment, Sam asked me something about his water shooter and my answer stopped him short.
“What voice is that, Nana? Where is your real voice? That voice was crackly?” This from a little boy who still believes that Papa will get away from those guys keeping him in heaven, that Papa will come back to us.
Maybe. Maybe Sam knows something I need to learn.
…it would never be in springtime. No, I could never leave in springtime…