Singing in the Rain
Hmmm. How to begin. Again. Isn't that the quintessential question that I've been mulling for weeks.
It caught me up for a second, this snapshot in time. Enraptured in the glow of the evening storm floating in, aware of a haze in the distance and the light fuzzing around the edges, I was watching a memory in the making.
The air was heavy but their hearts were light and the music played and they pranced about, all my people, singing in the rain. When I envisioned my motherhood, this is all I wanted, to have and know and love my people. When I look back at the last 14 years, I know I have a catalog of days like this and I am so appreciative of every single one. 
How to continue an ordinary life with an altered trajectory and yet make it "begin again," with a vibrancy and fervor that lights the inner fire?
Some days it has been a wish, a quiet mantra for the sun to come out. And what a stubborn season this has been, the spring that was called for so long that never wanted to arrive. Some days it has been an external push, putting literal flame to scraps and detritus in a heaping pile in the yard, and standing too near to feel the heat and pressure of the old, burning away.
Maybe last night it was want of a spark, some static in the air and tension in the clouds and in our hearts. The thunder rolling in the distance called us to the porch after unexpected drama and discord threatened another evening of frustration. And there we sat and could just be, just us, waiting for the storm to come and anticipating nothing more for a bit.
There was mindless chatter and gab, bickering and teasing, and soon enough, the backdrop noises became ordinary (yet extraordinary) monotony that is the soundtrack to my days.
The added music was a bass note to which my people responded by jumping to their feet. And so it began, the singing and dancing and rhythm of their night. And with their stomping toes pitter pattering around my porch, there also came the pitter patter on the roof of the solid rain drops plopping.
Away they ran, into the warm and wet and wild and I smiled.
I can see it still, the snap of the lightning flash that caught the moments in a picture forever embedded in my mind. I hope it was trapped in theirs too.
Of course I put the occasion in actual photos for posterity, but the sentiment, the wild love and squeals and zeal for this life, I'm still wishing I could bottle for a day when it doesn't come this easy. 
For now, I'll let this suffice. We may be driving a struggle bus, but at least we are doing it all together in one place and on a good night, even getting out to sing and dance in the rain.
When your recent posts popped up in my blog reader, I was confused. I didn't remember you. But I clicked through to your blog and quickly picked up on the fact that we have baby loss in common. I must have subscribed to your feed back in the day when loss was fresh and then forgot about it. Now I see that we have more in common--I am also going through a divorce. Even though we don't know each other, seeing your writing has helped me feel ever so slightly less alone. I hope my comment can do the same for you. <3
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