sounds of life

May 21st, 2013 § 1 comment § permalink

it’s the little sounds.

the sounds that break the void left by pure emptiness.

the sounds in a vacuum, amplified so that we can hear them as they really are.

the sound of morning breaking through sleep – the dreaded BEEP or RRRR or some perky talk radio host cutting into the dreams and hopes of endless eyelids.

of an ice cold coke in the middle of a hot afternoon – the crisp snap of of aluminum on aluminum and slick slip back into silence.

of an early morning thump, silence, thump, as kids throw a baseball back and forth – the reverberating hush of all the words spoken through the motion of rotator cup, ball through air, THUMP.

of cubes pressed on a laptop when the rest of the world is silent – the moon and backlit screen illuminating the keys while the rest of the world experiences a deafening quiet.

it’s the little sounds that bring me back into creation, into the world, into me.

the sounds of life that go uncherished. that go forgotten.

i need these sounds of unimport to remind me how good life is. how complex life is. how simple life is.

it was the sound of the espresso machine as i climb stairs to greet the morning, to greet my mom already awake and thinking of others.

now it’s the sound of drawers opening and laces being tied as my wife – a late sleeper – gets up early to run.

and it’s the sound of the rising sun as i shut the noise off, lower the window, and embrace distant cars backing up and racing forward.

it’s everything i fail to notice, but always hear.

it’s the sounds of life that i appreciate more than i know until i stop and listen and realize they are there and the world is much too big to not notice these little sounds of life.

***

this was written as a just write post. it’s been a while since i’ve joined this community and i’m glad to have something to offer them. they are beautiful writers just trying to get something down – a task harder done than said.

redemption

May 15th, 2013 § 0 comments § permalink

i missed a pop up last night.

a pop up.

i felt like i was in first grade, the first time a ball was hit my direction and everything in me was nervous and shaking and why isn’t the ball in my glove yet?

i watched it fall from however many tens of feet in the air. i thought i was under it. i called for it. i had both hands up. and then i watched it slide right behind where my glove was.

the shock of it was mortifying. i’ve caught dozens of them – even just a few days prior – and when it mattered i missed it.

the worst is that i swear it was coming into my glove. i swear i was where i needed to be and then i wasn’t and my throat dropped into my stomach. i darted around like a gerbil in a cage trying locate the missed softball, Bobby Knight internally cussing me out.

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when i found it – thanks to the yells of teammates – it was too late to do anything. the damage was done. the next batter would scorch a ball and the runner i let on would score and i would smack my glove a handful of times and stare at it trying to mentally process how i missed a pop up. A POP UP.

after the mistake, i kept praying for them to hit it at me. redemption. this is what my dad taught me. when you make a mistake. you don’t wish the ball away from you, you wish for an opportunity to do it right.

they didn’t hit another pop up my direction, just a couple grounders – one that i couldn’t field cleanly, one that i rushed the throw and skipped it to first, and one that i had to range to my left and thankfully was able to flip to second for a force.

it was a rough night in the field. the next game is a week away. so i’ll wait. i’ll stew. i’ll pray for opportunities. i’ll pray for a chance at redemption.

 

Letters to Mom

May 10th, 2013 § 3 comments § permalink

Dear Someday Maybe Mom -

there are horror stories of constant obligations, of no free time, of an inability to sneak in a shower because the baby just won’t stop. there’s the never ending flow of diapers, milk, laundry. the prayers for quiet, for a sleep-filled night, for just a few more ounces of energy.

there’s the sacrifices. the lack of time for running, and local theater, and time with friends. the lack of meals out, and time spent together, and passing up something for yourself because the baby’s growing too fast to keep him clothed.

i’ll never fully have the connection that you will. i’ll never know what it’s like to carry a little person inside me. a little person made up of you and me and tied together in a love that’s greater than either of us.

i can see it, Love. i can see you in a bathrobe holding a swaddled baby in a blanket made by someone just for our baby. it’s black outside and throughout the house and i’m out cold – incoherent as always – and you’re wide awake singing in that soft sweet voice like you used to sing to me when we were dating from miles a part. slowly but surely you make it to the rocker, singing through the tears, through the wails, through the tiredness and you sit in our recliner – the one like my mom’s – and you rock our baby to sleep just like my mom did for me.

and i can see the moments where i try to help. where i hold our baby in front of Dora and tell you to go do something for you. you roll your eyes, kiss me good-bye, and remind me of all the things i’m bound to forget – from feeding times to how to properly apply a diaper – you kiss our baby goodbye and say, take care of your father, he needs you. then, once you’re gone, i flip over to baseball and teach them how to fall sleep to Dick Bremer’s voice. and i can see you coming home, our baby making her father proud by staring at the post game with big eyes and sucking a pacifier. her father asleep behind her.

i can see the moments when i fail you, or you fail me, and the other is there, every step of the way, trying to do things right, like the way our moms and their moms have done things right before us.

but right now there’s no pressure, no rush, no have to, there’s just the maybe, and you are the best Someday Maybe Mom.

Love,
Your Husband

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***

this is a part of a series of Letters to Mom leading up to Mother’s Day – a day usually undervalued and under-appreciated like the women it was created to honor. my first letter was to my birth Mom – a woman that deserves more love than i have to give – and the second letter was to my mother-in-law – a woman built of love and grace.

 

Letters to Mom

May 8th, 2013 § 2 comments § permalink

Dear Mom-in-Law,

you weren’t my mom until ’09, but that didn’t stop you from loving me upon meeting me. not that i deserved it – i was interested in your only daughter and she’d been hurt before and so many things to be weary of. still, you loved me like you love everyone – as one of your own.

you helped foster my crazy ideas for your daughter – the Valentine’s scavenger hunt, the cheesecake anniversary, the proposal – and you went out of your way to help me make them a reality.

then it switched – it went from Mrs. Irvin to Mom – and it was like it was always meant to be. like God knew that He created a mama’s boy who would need a mama when his mom wasn’t close. you are there with home-cooked meals, hugs that only mamas can give, and words of wisdom that every young man needs to hear.

when we moved you kept my girl – your girl – sane. you helped her cope with the change, with the putting of things into boxes and saying goodbye to our first home together. you cleaned bathrooms and cabinets and carpets. you helped organize the kitchen and shop for furniture and whatever else needed to happen. you did all the things i could never do, and you never asked for anything – you never ask for anything.

you are my Mom – a word bigger than words.

Love,

Your Son-in-Law

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***

this is a part of a series of Letters to Mom leading up to Mother’s Day – a day usually undervalued and under-appreciated like the women it was created to honor. my first letter was to my birth Mom – a woman that deserves more love than i have to give.

 

Letters to Mom

May 6th, 2013 § 8 comments § permalink

Dear Mom,

i was too little to take note, but i’ve seen the pictures and heard the stories, and i want you to know how thankful i am for what i can’t remember.

i’m thankful for the countless nights that you swaddled me in those handmade blankets and held me close and rocked me in that recliner – the one that years later i would hide in my closet so dad wouldn’t throw it out.

i’m thankful that because of that one picture i have a clear image of what it was like to be Mom. to have a boy in need and to sing softly or whisper calmly and rock me back from the edge.

i’m thankful for the bottles and the books and the hugs. the snuggles and the kisses and the time. all the things that happened and i’ll never remember because my little brain wasn’t there yet.

you were there, Mom, even when i wasn’t there to say thank you, or tell you what i needed, or to remind you that you were the best Mom that little boy could have.

thank you, Mom. Always thank you.

Love,
Your Eldest Son

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***

this is a part of a series of Letters to Mom leading up to Mother’s Day – a day usually undervalued and under-appreciated like the women it was created to honor. my second letter was to my mother-in-law, a woman built of love and grace.

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