Thursday marked our twenty-first wedding anniversary, also known as May the 4th Be With You. And no, we most certainly did not have a Star Wars themed wedding, *gag*. I was hoping to spend the day doing James and Jaimie things, but the hours got away from me with electrician work and some guys who came all the way from Redondo Beach to fix the French doors we’ve had zip-tied all winter (Grandma’s good idea). I did make a dinner reservation at one of our favorite spots so the boys and I would have a date to look forward to.
In the morning, I stepped outside to check James’ little bonsais and gather my handful of beach rocks drying in the sun. I have a little morning ritual where I put one rock into a little bowl of water and tell James something I miss about him. It’s a special little marigold-colored bowl I bought at the Portland Japanese garden. My rocks are a diverse collection from the beach in Avila. Once I’ve used all my rocks, I pour the water into a little bonsai and start again. As my grief counselor says– we can adopt anything that helps make this easier to carry. So I’m all about appreciating little signs. They make me reflect, laugh, wonder. Things we can all use more of.
Which is why the boys and I light a candle every night when we sit down to dinner and place it at James’ spot at the table. We take turns as the boys are not confident users of the lighter (skill issue), and share a story or something we miss about Dad. The boys recently shared that when they were little they thought their Dad had special powers. He’d countdown at stoplights and predict exactly when it would turn green. Pure magic.
So on Thursday morning I place my rock in the bowl, make my way downstairs, and freeze in my tracks. There’s a little rainbow on the floor. We have a bit of a thing for rainbows. Have I ever seen this before? That’s so weird. I can’t find where it’s coming from, but there it is, in the center of the foyer so we’ll walk right through it on the way out the door.
I drop the boys at school and am driving up Highland. My eyes are blurring with tears. There’s something about this spot… just up the street from where we met… the exact spot where he told me he loved Hawaiian pizza. Through my tears, I have a bit of tunnel vision. And then all I can see is a guy on an electric scooter zipping up the hill past me– he’s wearing beige shorts and has The. Worst. Wedgie. I literally laugh out loud and say, “Oh that is not a good look.” It’s like James has sent me this menswear inspired laugh at this exact moment.
I stop for coffee and have a typically challenging and rewarding workout with Casey. The week before I’d given her two big boxes from the shop, hoping her husband Clay would find some things he likes. She shares their try-on experience and it is so nostalgic and heartfelt. We get some Kleenex and hoist the boxes back into my car.
That afternoon I sit down for a moment with my journal. As I’m taking some time to reflect, two little birds keep coming and going… landing on the tiny horizontal grilles of the French doors. Last summer, James brought home a baby fiddle leaf fig from the shop that wasn’t doing well. It was the Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree of fiddle leaf figs. Over the winter, I accidentally left it on the deck one night where a storm battered it so badly all the leaves fell off. I was pretty sure it was dead. But I watered it and placed it by the aforementioned zip-tied doors. Where it has remained as a leafless, lifeless stick for countless months.
Until I’m watching the little lovebirds and a tiny green leaf catches my eye. A new green shoot. I’m dismayed.
After Nate’s practice, the boys and I head downtown to the Bear and the Wren. We pick-up a tradition James and I started on our first anniversary… we each articulate a goal we have for the year ahead in our journal. Nate proclaims the Bee Stang the best pizza of his life: red sauce, mozzarella, spicy calabrese salami, basil, and calabrian hot honey. I’m envious he has found the pinnacle of pizza perfection at the age of twelve.
We head home and our sweetest Auntie Jill has door-dashed us a little anniversary treat. I open the bag and I’m just laughing and shaking my head. It’s filled with these brightly colored French macarons from downtown. A shop that James and I visited recently, but just once. The macarons are covered in glitter. And after he ate them his face was sparkly for days.
I love you so much Jame. We miss you every single day. No amount of time would ever have been enough. Thank you for the rainbows, the laughs, the new growth, the sparkles. And the magic.
