I have my mother's hands and my father's fingernails, the pale half moons on my thumbs always make me think of him. I carry my daughter low in my sacrum, riding low on my hip like when she would cling to me as a toddler, always one hand free to carry the groceries. I can feel my grandfather in my lungs with every cough, every wheeze. Sometimes I feel my grandmother in my knees
While of course I carry my husband in my heart, he's also in my eyes and ears, the ways I perceive the day, what perspective to share, story to elaborate over dinner, some nuance, old joke, fond memory, any way to make a long story longer.
Everyday this week, even right now, I'm compelled to check my phone, waiting for the text, waiting for the call. I'm carrying Paul as well as Barb and Amber.
This coming new moon is my sister-in-law Carol's memorial. I carry the memory of touching her feet as she passed, the sounds of niece Wendy sobbing, the cool calm of the nurse as she continued to switch off the machines.
I have a litany of lovers that I say when I can't sleep, a rosary of remembrance. I carry all of their names, and my pockets are deep.
