Today is a day rising heavy in my heart. It is a good day, a beautiful day - the weather could not be any more my cup of tea, I sat in the sun just now thinking that I was born long before my body - I heard stories from my past in the wind.
It is fitting I believe, that this beautiful day serves as a reminder of profound moments and events from the past.
It seems only the only proper tribute to the days gone by, the beauty I mean. Such perfect beauty rose with the sun this morning.
Today is marathon day in my beloved Boston. Sitting behind the road where I stood as a child excitedly watching the thousands of runners pass me by, are my Grandparents. They are together in the earth, a plot by the runners route. I remember as a child visiting that plot, visiting the the grave of my great grandparents who are also buried there - I was always disturbed to see the names and birth dates of my Nana and Papa with a dash and open ended marble. Hard to accept death is part of life when you are seven and your Nana and Papa are your whole world.
I always protested looking, I gazed out beyond our family names and instead made up stories of life and death for all the other names carved in neat rows - any name but our name.
My Grandfather died on marathon day two years ago - like the the beauty of today, I found his timing to be appropriate.
While thousands ran the streets of his city, he spread his wings to fly.
It is also the weekday early opener for the Sox.
He loved baseball and Boston, like I love words and sunlight.
I am homesick today, missing my home, the sound of sneakers with soles worn down after the brutal climb of heart break hill.
Surely there is something about a Southern girl Amos, but there is also something about we Boston girls.
We appreciate the saltiness, we sweat it out from our pores.
Today I miss my home, I miss the walk up lake Street, I miss the little white cups littering the roadway, the people partying on roof tops, the collective cheering of Bostonian 's, the salty sweat that would occasionally whip me in the face as I passed a cup to a thirsty and grateful runner.
I miss my roots and feel them begging for a feed of old dirty water.
Today is also the anniversary of the Virginia tech shootings. A day I will never forget.
I was in Washington DC on the windiest day ever, I was with my family and my extended family, the Dyer-Mitchell clan.
Of course because it is always something, Mary was blown down a set of steps at the Arlington National Cemetery, we spent the remainder of the day in an overcrowded (wind injuries?) emergency room.
It was there that we witnessed the events in Blacksburg unfolding, the giant TV in the waiting room flooded with images of confusion and death. I remember that we were shocked beyond comprehension, still feel that exact same way.
Five years has passed.
My wife is at ground zero today - I have received a text from her, a photo of the new memorial that has since been constructed after our visit on my 40th birthday.
Somehow I think her being there is in line with the theme of the day.
I am a person that never forgets. My memory is as expanse as anything I can think of that is wide and deep, I am a watcher of life, a detail seeker, an imprint maker.
I remember everything in fine detail.
I remember my childhood, the marathon year after year, the sound of the Sox opener on the radio on the front porch, my Grandfathers voice on our final goodbye, the emergency room in DC, what I said to the man who gave Mary the wheel chair, walking across the street fighting a gust that wanted me for a victim, the blue floral shirt I bought that day, the sounds of screaming and confusion and crying coming from Blacksburg. Dave Matthews backing away from his mike for the Hokies to take center stage by candlelight, to sing their words of wisdom, conviction, healing - "don't worry about a thing cause every little thing is gonna be alright."
Ahhh this day is heavy and light.
I remember and I guess that is all I really wanted to say. I remember and I NEVER forget.
xo
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