Melancholy Morning

This morning, my brother-in-law is on my mind. He has been all week, really, as it has been a week full of "Jonathan" moments. Although we had not been in touch regularly before his death, he would occasionally send me little messages, and I always liked knowing that wherever he was, he sounded good. I put a New Kids on the Block song on my Myspace page once, and he sent me a message saying he could picture me dancing around the living room to that song, and he was cracking up at the image. That was the kind of relationship we had. We shared silly moments often, and occasionally we had some really good, deep talks about life. Anyone who knew Jonathan had a unique relationship with him. He had to find his own individual way to relate to you, and I count myself blessed to be one of the few he allowed "in" to his life. We started out a little rough, but he accepted me as his family, and he loved me as I loved him. I know this because we had our own little special bonding moments, and they are memories that I will hold near and dear forever.
I was sharing one of those stories with a friend this week. We were sitting out on a pier in the Puget Sound with the mountains around us, and I commented on how much Jonathan loved being by the water and the mountains. I proceeded to tell her about the time he and I survived a tornado in a single-wide mobile home with his daughter who was about 3 or 4 months old at the time. One day I'll post that whole story. I also told her of all the "butterfly" moments we've had since he died. It started with my mother-in-law getting a special up-close visit from one shortly after his service, and it seems that whenever we talk about him lately, a butterfly appears. Haleigh has a real gift for conjuring the "flutter-by's" just by mentioning his name. WELL, I finished my story, we had a good laugh, and we walked back up the steps. There is a glass door there that you have to go through. It locks at night to protect all the boats parked at the pier, and only the owners can get through. It is basically a simple door, with short glass walls on each side that keep someone from just stepping around it and heading down the boardwalk. Would you believe, there was an enormous black and yellow butterfly there, obviously distressed because it couldn't figure out how to get around the glass and fly away. I was speechless, and my friend Katie, who is a beautiful soul and gets these things, just looked at me. Then we helped him (very carefully so as not to damage his wings) find the edge of the little wall and fly away. I said "bye, Jonathan" as I watched him fly away.
Two days ago, a lady helping with the play Haleigh is doing asked me what size clothes she wears, and offered to bring me a box of clothing that someone brought her but she couldn't use. When I got the box home and opened it yesterday, I couldn't figure out why in the world she sent it to me, because most of the clothing is teenager and small adult sizes. There are some tops that will work for Haleigh, but most of the pants will fit me! When I was almost to the bottom, I figured out exactly why we got this box. Haleigh has been obsessed with all things green since her Uncle Jonathan has been gone, because it is her grandma's favorite color, and it was his, also. I knew she would like the hoodie I pulled out just for that reason. THEN, I turned it around to look at the back. It says "1977" . . . the year he was born.
There is a song my husband is learning to play on the guitar for me to sing. I've been asking hime to learn it for years, probably, but for some reason we just looked it up and started working on it this week. I've always associated it with romantic loss, but now it has a whole new meaning to me. It is "On a Bus to St. Cloud", one of the most beautiful songs ever written (and sung by Trisha Yearwood, who is from Georgia by the way). It is the soundtrack to my morning, and my week.
I didn't get to have Jonathan in my whole life, but I did get to share ten years with him. He was my family, and I loved him. There are moments that I still can't believe he is gone. It's hard to explain, but you just couldn't know Jonathan without being profoundly affected by him. He could make you madder than a hornet, but turn around and melt your heart. I grieve for that loss, and I grieve for my husband's pain. I grieve for my mother-in-law, who, more than anyone else I know deserves peace and beauty in her life.

In a church in downtown New Orleans,

I got down on my knees and prayed.

And I wept in the arms of Jesus for the choice you made.

We were just getting to the good part,

just getting the past the mystery.

Oh, and it's just like you . . . it's just like you

to disagree.

And it's strange, but it's true.

You just slipped out of view.

Just a face in the crowd on a bus

to St. Cloud.

You chase me like a shadow, and you haunt me like a ghost.

And I hate you so, and I love you so,

and I miss you most.

On a bus to St. Cloud, Minnesota

I thought I saw you there

with the snow falling down around you

like a silent prayer.