A beautiful glass

My friend Diana shared this on Facebook today.

It’s uncanny, this soul-sister link we have. We were chance neighbors during a scifi/fantasy workshop up on Martha’s Vineyard–a trip I’d have made the year prior were it not for the accident that set Chris on his course. We were both women with lots of kids, picking up writing careers we’d always wanted but didn’t have time for. We were not just instant friends, but instant sisters. Ever since then, we’ve both had this instinct when it comes to one another. We just know when the other needs something.

It happened again this morning, when she put that link up on Facebook, and I bet she doesn’t even know it (until she reads this.)

I’ve been struggling with the notion of happiness the last couple of weeks. I’m happy. I am. I’ve had a lot of crappy things happen in my life; they’ve never stopped me from being happy. But there’s a shadowed edge to every moment of happiness now that will never go away.

When Brian died, my world shrunk to two tiny pinpricks of light–Jamie and Scott. I was twenty-one. Despite the ponderous sorrow, it was ridiculous to think I’d never be happy again. It took nearly three years, but the sorrow lifted enough for me to see other lights, and I met Frank. I could remember Brian without crying, for the most part. Even now, thirty years later, I still miss him but I don’t cry every time I think about him. More often, it’s with a smile.

I can’t imagine it happening with Chris. I just can’t. I do think of him and remember with smiles, even now, but the smiles always come with tears. I saw a stupid commercial last night, babies first learning how to walk, and remembered how Chris pretended he was just learning to walk when Gracie started taking her first steps. Totally lost it. Why? Because I realized I don’t think I’ll ever be able to watch old family movies again. It just hurts too much to even contemplate.

I came online this morning, intent on a completely different blog post about that stupid commercial, and found Diana’s FB post (that I stopped on as much for the fact that the guy in the vid has the same color hair as I do.) Soul sister magic, she did it again. She lifted me up without meaning to, and changed my day for me.

There will always be this sorrow, this shadowed edge to every happiness, but there is happiness. My glass has been all levels of full. It’s even been as close to empty as one can get. But what a beautiful glass it is. I am surrounded by amazing, loving people to fill it up when my levels fall. When I can’t seem to do it myself. That’s not an honor everyone gets, and I know it. All I have to do is let it in.

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6 Comments

Filed under Life's honest moments

6 responses to “A beautiful glass

  1. I’m so overjoyed that I was able to do that for you this morning. And, I have to tell you, this post has returned the favor. You have given me exactly what I needed today. A reminder of a friendship that is so valuable to me that it fills my glass and my heart. I am so very sorry for your pain. I can’t express how deeply. And I am so honored to have your friendship. Soon we will stand on the beach, raise our voices, and call out the ocean. Our keening song will ring across that sea, pain and triumph and that sharp razor’s edge where they meet. I love you, my dear.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful video, beautiful post. ❤ ❤ ❤

    Like

  3. Beautifully put and a reminder of how remarkable a person you are.
    I’m always here for you when that glass needs filling… ❤

    Like

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