Lugnasa \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Garlic Planting Moon<\/p>\n
What to say? \u00a0The wound so deep, the insult so grievous. \u00a0Nothing. \u00a0Nothing. \u00a0Nothing.<\/p>\n
I remember that elevator ride with my mother, she on the gurney her face tortured by her brain in agony. \u00a0She had already begun to move away, fast, from the one who walked with me to the ice cream shop not far from our house and bought me a sundae for my good grades. \u00a0Who held my hand when I was scared. \u00a0Who taught me to watch the spider out our kitchen window as a wonder of the universe.<\/p>\n
The phone call. \u00a0Unexpected in February. \u00a0My sister, normally in Singapore, here for a visit. \u00a0A call from Alexandria, long abandoned home. \u00a0Dad died. \u00a0Just died there sitting in a chair. \u00a0Winked out. \u00a0Gone.<\/p>\n
None escape. None. It is this truth, underscored with bright black lines by the death of the one’s we love, that creates the wonder. \u00a0Our lives. \u00a0Brief. \u00a0Random. \u00a0Often, as the Odyssey says, filled with pain and suffering, yet still. \u00a0Still. Glorious. \u00a0Radiant. \u00a0Precious.<\/p>\n
Sometimes I think these things. \u00a0Feel them. \u00a0But do not say them. \u00a0Now, now I do.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Lugnasa \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Garlic Planting Moon What to say? \u00a0The wound so deep, the insult so grievous. \u00a0Nothing. \u00a0Nothing. \u00a0Nothing. I remember that elevator ride with my mother, she … Continue reading Our Ordinary Wonder<\/span>