(From 12/4/08)
"Mommy?" she calls to me from around corner.
I am upside down on the yoga ball, ignoring Lou Dobbs Tonight.
She finds me, then asked, "Is today one year since Tata...?"
I wait a beat to see if she's really asking what I think she's asking. When she only blinks at me, I take a deep breathe, give her another second still, then offer up, "....jumped into the sky????"
She nods, then tilts her head. "Let go of the grass!"
"Let go of the grass?" I understand it immediately.
When someone dies, gravity reverses.
The body that held them here and kept them from being part of the universe suddenly stops, and they let go of the grass and fall back into God.
Wonderful.
"Oh Zoe! I wish I'd thought of that! If I say that you said that, can I write it?"
She nods, I get my pen.
Instead of just letting me jot down that line, she follows me and continues her story.
"One night Tata came to me and we were laying on our backs under a Palm Tree, looking at stars. She put her arm around me and pointed up, and said, 'Zoeita, see the stars? Those stars are angels, and when we die, we become one.' And after that, she hugged me."
I nod, not looking at her, still trying to write "let go of the grass" in my journal in a meaningful way, so that no one looking through my pages would think I was writing a to-do list.
Across I line I scribble, jumping into heaven, let go of grass, Zoe, 12/1, upside down on yoga ball.
"And THEN she let go of the grass?" I ask Zoe, ready to listen more carefully to her story.
"No, Mom, she hugged me that night and she's never let me go."
"Tata never jumped off the grass?"
Zoe shakes her head, "No, she never jumped off the grass! She's with me!"
"Abuela is with YOU? So she didn't jump into the sky? She didn't let go of the grass?"
Zoe shook her head. "Nope, neither."
"Fine. You're saying I was wrong about the jumping into the sky?"
She nods, solemnly, patting me on the arm.
I turn back to my journal and start to cross out what I'd written, then stop.
I get my Mac, turn it on, and with Zoe tucked under my left arm, type this story one-handed, grateful for the fantastic mystery of it all.
"Mommy?" she calls to me from around corner.
I am upside down on the yoga ball, ignoring Lou Dobbs Tonight.
She finds me, then asked, "Is today one year since Tata...?"
I wait a beat to see if she's really asking what I think she's asking. When she only blinks at me, I take a deep breathe, give her another second still, then offer up, "....jumped into the sky????"
She nods, then tilts her head. "Let go of the grass!"
"Let go of the grass?" I understand it immediately.
When someone dies, gravity reverses.
The body that held them here and kept them from being part of the universe suddenly stops, and they let go of the grass and fall back into God.
Wonderful.
"Oh Zoe! I wish I'd thought of that! If I say that you said that, can I write it?"
She nods, I get my pen.
Instead of just letting me jot down that line, she follows me and continues her story.
"One night Tata came to me and we were laying on our backs under a Palm Tree, looking at stars. She put her arm around me and pointed up, and said, 'Zoeita, see the stars? Those stars are angels, and when we die, we become one.' And after that, she hugged me."
I nod, not looking at her, still trying to write "let go of the grass" in my journal in a meaningful way, so that no one looking through my pages would think I was writing a to-do list.
Across I line I scribble, jumping into heaven, let go of grass, Zoe, 12/1, upside down on yoga ball.
"And THEN she let go of the grass?" I ask Zoe, ready to listen more carefully to her story.
"No, Mom, she hugged me that night and she's never let me go."
"Tata never jumped off the grass?"
Zoe shakes her head, "No, she never jumped off the grass! She's with me!"
"Abuela is with YOU? So she didn't jump into the sky? She didn't let go of the grass?"
Zoe shook her head. "Nope, neither."
"Fine. You're saying I was wrong about the jumping into the sky?"
She nods, solemnly, patting me on the arm.
I turn back to my journal and start to cross out what I'd written, then stop.
I get my Mac, turn it on, and with Zoe tucked under my left arm, type this story one-handed, grateful for the fantastic mystery of it all.
