It was a rare occurrence for Mark and I to go shopping anywhere. He hated it. Once I asked him to stop at Hobby Lobby on the way home from somewhere, and after a few minutes of being inside the store he asked, “Are they playing hymns in here?” I told him they were and when he asked why I told him it was a Christian hobby store. “Christian? Are we supposed to not notice that all the shit inside this shitty place is made in China,” he said and refused to cross the threshold of that place ever again.
Mark rode his bike to work year-round and was having trouble finding gloves to keep his hands warm. A chat over breakfast with the boys in the Saturday morning Polar Bear Club determined that he needed to go to REI to get the best in winter gear, and so on a Saturday afternoon we went. Not because I especially wanted to go but more that shopping was so foreign to him that he needed an expert to tag along. He found his gloves and I found a jacket for him. A lightweight, warm jacket that he said he didn’t need but I insisted he try on. He bought this jacket that weighed nothing, and suddenly became the Joel Osteen of winter coats. He preached that investment everywhere he went. When he died I gave the jacket and some other things to my nephews. It was all hard to part with but that coat was one high hurdle for me to jump. “It’s stupid but it means a lot to me,” I said to my sister and she reported back that her son loved it and wore it all the time.
Random photos pop up on my phone regularly and they are usually of Mark. Is it him letting me know he’s close by or is it random? I don’t know. All I know is that they stop me in my tracks, usually make me sigh, and think, “Oh Mark, if only..” If only what? I don’t know any more. Last week a photo showed up of Mark and Mallory in the lobby of the theatre at her college where we waited to see our girl after a performance. I vividly remember all of it. Maggie, Nathan, and Will were there, too, because we all loved to watch her dance. It was packed with people waiting to find their dancer, most with flowers in their arms. “Damn it, Mark,” I said, “we forgot flowers.” We always forgot flowers. Every single time. In the crowd we found our girl and I took a picture of her (sans a bouquet) with her dad which is what showed up on my phone last week.
They both looked so happy and there was Mark in his REI jacket. I couldn’t stop staring at it, and over and over the same thought kept going through my head. Was this even real? Was he really here or did I imagine all of it? Did we build a life together or was that some story I told myself? I remember us at REI buying the gloves and that coat, of going to the movies with friends and him saying, “Brian, you need to get this coat. It’s the best.” I remember a hundred times hanging it on the hook inside the coat closet, of seeing him wearing it and thinking “damn he’s good looking” and now all of it feels like a dream.
The first thing you notice on the If Only…Trail is that it is clogged with travelers. The ones who missed their mother’s passing by seconds and are unable to forgive themselves, parents of children who go out to play and never come back home, spouses who watched lives withered away by disease, by accidents, by chance, by a split second decision, missing best friends, siblings, cousins, favorite neighbors, mentors. Mothers who never see the face of a baby they loved since they stared in hopeful disbelief at a pregnancy test. Empty chairs, empty beds, empty cribs.
On the If Only…Trail, the wounded and the wise clear the brush and preach to the newly ordained who are desperate for a copy of the instruction manual for rebuilding a life. Listen to me they say to tear-filled eyes. No life slips through our fingers without a trace. Look at your hands. They are coated in stardust so they can lead you out of the dark.
Kathy, This is maybe the strongest and most poignant piece I have ever read on your blog. It reminds of what my sister said to me at her husband’s funeral: “All love ends in heartbreak”.
Tom
This is an exceptionally beautiful writing, and that’s coming from someone that finds all your writings beautiful. Thank you.
Agreed ❤️
My heart is pounding. An echo of these feelings finds words. You have an amazing gift and I thank you for sharing it.
Shorter than many, but so full. I stop whatever I’m doing when I see you have posted a new piece on the blog because I know it will make me FEEL something and I can’t wait to find out what it will be.
Great coat. Lovely man.
I’ve nearly left a comment a few times – just a random stranger whom you’ve helped so much and I hope in some small way that this can help lift your heart the way you have mine.
I love this Kathy! You write so beautifully ❤️
Dang you!
❤️
Even though, “I’m not crying; YOU’RE crying,” is my family’s mantra, I use it today to share a moment with you over a phrase, etched into the middle of your piece. I sat all night with my dying mother, and the hospice worker came in and said I should go get some sleep, that she’d probably last until morning. I drove away, and a few hours later, I got the call that she was gone. I don’t regret it any more, but I spent a lot of time feeling like I made a mistake. People say, “she was waiting for you to leave,” but I know she was unaware I was there, and she ran out of time. Sometimes I need to read a list of sorrows to know that I am not alone. Somehow, it’s a comfort to be among mourners, even as it’s another club to which none of us wants to belong.
“ It was all hard to part with but that coat was one high hurdle for me to jump. “It’s stupid but it means a lot to me,” I said to my sister and she reported back that her son loved it and wore it all the time.” – we say it’s “stupid” but it’s so meaningful to have it. Love that your nephew wears it and hope his smile is as bright as Mark’s when he wore it.
Lovely writing… the stardust close 💖
Just beautiful, I think one of your best. The “ if only or what ifs” rob us of so much joy Some people think is about regrets, I think its a totally different hirt.❤️
Everyday a struggle to believe this is my life. Photos, music, food, clothing, laughter, whistles, seasons…the list of triggers is too many to list! The pain deep to completely convey. I MISS MY SON! The pain is the love. Thank you for your words. Sending strength.
Everyday a struggle to believe this is my life. Photos, music, food, clothing, laughter, whistles, seasons…the list of triggers is too many to list! The pain deep to completely convey. I MISS MY SON! The pain is the love. Thank you for your words. Sending strength.
Kathy, This was so beautiful.
I always find some deep meaning to ponder after reading a memory you have written
About Mark, your marriage and the lovely family you and Mark raised together.
Your writing is a gift that helps so many.
Sending love and thanks for the way you express your feelings.
Love and Prayers,
Judy & Tom ❤️
“No life slips through fingers without a trace. Look at your hands. They are coated in stardust so they can lead you out of the dark”.
Kathleen that is prolific and deeply comforting. Thank you for continuing to share.