Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Like a folded map...

I downloaded this picture from a bunch sent to me. I recognize the rock in the water: this is Agate beach, the same view I see  across the lake where we live in Port Orford. I'm assuming Janet took it when the two of them visited during the 4th of July weekend in 2011.

Brian changed a whole lot those last years, looked more manly, acted more mature in so many ways.
Yet, when I begin to think of him, my mind skips around, through the years.
It is like having a folded map, and moving it around, I get to review the different parts of his journey.

And that's what it feels like this reminiscing: the journey is over for Brian, and I have both the beginnings and the end, thirty-one years where the little boy who took his first camping trip with his big brother and fell in love with the outdoors, continued to enjoy nature every chance he had.

I still have a list a things we were going to do together:
1. take a trip to Italy together
2. go on fishing trips
3. revisit Montana where his father's family originated

He and I built a garden together in Woodland Hills, after the house we lived in was destroyed in the 1994 Northridge earthquake. He enjoyed helping me, doing the tasks I could not do by myself, helping me with setting rocks in various locations, building a brick patio, a pond for his fish and turtles, and designing and constructing the irrigation lines.

He chose the statuary: an Italian inspired young boy with a bird in his hand, to decorate the area with orange and lemon bushes.

Just fourteen when the earthquake hit, he visited the construction zone everyday before and after school by himself, to feed his cat that didn't adjust to moving. In the evening, we would all return to the site, with a picnic, to talk to the contractor. He was a sponge the entire time, asking questions, noticing details.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

On Sundays, I know you'll call.

On Sundays
you called.
I'd ask you how your week was; what you ate; what was bothering you.
You shared easily
Indulging me.

Then, on the phone with your father
you talked and talked
and indulged him too.

I still thought of you as my baby.