Shifting

It's coming on sunset and Sam and I are walking across a grassy field at the park in town. It's movie night, a big balloon screen looms at the corner of the park and the grass is strewn with blankets and chairs and coolers and families all coming alive in the evening breeze.

We've been walking for a while now, over to the playground, past the skate park where we stopped and Sam watched mesmerized as those young boy men flew around on their little wheeled wonders. We're on our way to the snack bar and Sam asks, Do they have bars there? And I say No, snacks. Oh, he says, what kind of snacks. I don't know, I answer, won't know till we get there. Well, let's go! he says, quickening his steps.

And it's one of those moments, those moments in which I feel my heart expand, in which I feel the whole life force of the universe inside my chest. The slanting sun is just skimming his bright yellow hair and light touches his head and makes him glow and I know, know, know how perfect is this moment in time, this very second, this step on the grass, this unremarkable conversation. It is all so perfect, so sweet and fine.

There was a time when a moment like this would have made my heart just as quickly constrict in fear, fear of loss, fear of joy, fear of the unknown. But tonight it stays wide open, just as wide as it can get.

We've transitioned into something new, Sam and me. He left his babyhood behind some time ago, but I think I was unwilling to let it go. I mourned it but wouldn't let myself cry those tears. Because I realized recently, with the help of my lovely friend Shari, that I was also mourning something else. And in unraveling those threads it seems I've set both Sam and me free from a little trap we had fallen into.

Sam is a kid now, a little boy, a separate, whole, comletely fabulous person. And I think we are both inhabiting that space now with ease and joy. I have enjoyed his company so much lately, have enjoyed being a part of this family--not just lived up to it, but enjoyed it fully. It is a new experience for me, one I am loving.

Off in the distance Husband sits waiting, his brand new computer controlled leg propped up on one knee, a position he hasn't been able to manage in nearly 30 years. Funny how so much can be so new when we used to think of ourselves as so old. Sam coming in new, with all his energy, vitality and considerable force of will, has yanked us back from the edge of that slow slide into nothingness that used to be our lives.

Finally, the movie starts and we settle into our fancy folding lawn chairs. Sam downs a strawberry milk, jumps up and declares himself ready to go. Husband and I just laugh and start gathering up our stuff. I don't care about the movie, wasn't paying attention anyway.

That moment, that moment in the light, that's all I came here for.