for Sara

My dearest Saraswati,

It’s funny the things that have hit me hardest since you passed away: boxes where your food dish should be, seeing your sister wander the house as if she’s looking for you, the special food we bought for you that we no longer need, not seeing you waiting at the door when we get home from an errand…  I didn’t expect those to hurt as much as they have.  Not having you jump into my lap while I’m resting on the couch at night?  Yeah, that pain I did expect.  The tears while typing this?  Yeah, I expected that too.

But this letter isn’t about the pain of your death.  It isn’t supposed to be anyway.  It’s supposed to be about love and gratitude.  So, let’s start over a bit.

Sara, thank you for all the snuggles and head bumps.  Thank you for the moments of pure joy as you zoomed around the house chasing toys as a kitten, as you yelled at the birds in the garden, as you adventured onto the patio in search of that perfect ray of sunshine.  Thank you for every moment of happiness you brought the Queen and I for the thirteen years you were with us. 

We fought for you as hard as we could in these last couple months and we’re so very sorry it wasn’t enough.  We know you were fighting too. 

We will watch over your sister.  You can be sure she’ll be getting extra pets now from all of us.  You can be certain we will cherish every moment we have with her as we cherished every moment we had with you.  She is going to miss you too.  How could she not.  You were her constant companion for the last 13 years too.

We loved you and we know you loved us fiercely too. 

I think of all the moments with you, the one that will forever stand out the clearest in my mind, is when the Queen was giving birth to the Little Prince.  You were by her side through the whole thing, refusing to budge, undaunted by the strangers in the house, undaunted by the noise and commotion.  She was your human and you were not going to leave her side no matter what.  You were such a sweet cat.  You loved your human and she loved you.

You will be missed, little girl.  Your cries, your cuddles, your purrs, your happy run to the food dish at meal times.  Your snuggles on the couch in the rare moments these days when we actually got to sit down.  Your presence at our feet at night when the kingdom would finally settle down and sleep.  Your talkative nature, always letting us know where you were and when something wasn’t right.  Your cleverness, sneakiness, determination to steal food from your sister when we had our backs turned.  You never really came to terms with the diet we had to put you on five years ago even though that diet likely is what gave us those five good years with you…  This list could go on and on.  For 13 years you were part of our family. 

I don’t really know how to end this.  Death is something I struggle with.  I guess that’s good, right?  It would a bit concerning if I didn’t struggle with it.

So, let’s just say, we love you Saraswati.

Thank you for everything.

Love,

All of us in the kingdom

my queen

My Dearest Queen,

I haven’t written to you here in a while.  It seems fitting to break that silence today, though. 

I won’t keep you for long, I know how busy you are.  You have a kingdom to run.  And what a fine kingdom it is.  I help in my way, of course, but I’m just a jester.  There’s only so much I can do.  We both know the amazingness of the kingdom comes down to your own amazingness.  You are devoted and selfless, creative and driven, and you work, work, work to constantly improve us, both the kingdom and its inhabitants.  You care in a way I can only strive for.  Your passion is unparalleled.

Your passion is one of the things that drew me to you all other years ago.  Your passion for all things, for living this life to its fullest, for adventures.  That passion has transferred to your family now.  We aren’t the same kids we were when we met but the passion remains.

I’m not entirely sure where I was headed with this letter, except to say that you are seen.  Your tireless work is seen.  Your love is seen.  You are seen.

I hope we do enough to show you how wonderful you are. 

Love you.

Love,

Matticus

so this is six, again

Dear Littler Prince,

So this is six?  And how is that possible?  How are you six already?  Time is surely playing some trick on the Queen and I…  Surely that’s the only explanation.  I would shake my fist at time but, alas, the moment has already passed.

Six.  What a great age.  You have such a fun year ahead of you.  Finishing up kindergarten.  Starting first grade.  And?  What else are you going to start this coming year?  What adventures will you go on?  It’s a mystery for now.  Soon to be solved.

And we say goodbye to five.  The year you became a lego master like your big brother.  You really took to your swim lessons over the summer and are turning into a fish, also like your big brother.  You got back into bike riding.  You leaped ahead in math.  You got into the Worlde and Quordle craze.  And, and, and.  And it was another year absolutely full of adventures.  Too many to recount.  Too many to remember, actually.  It was a blur.

I know we had our struggles, too, of course.  Five was a tough age.  We got through them, as we do, as we always will.  I’m sorry for the times I yelled when I could have found a gentler way to parent.  I’m sorry for the times I couldn’t understand your needs faster.  I’m happy to report that the days ahead will get easier.  Just like you, I’m constantly learning.  With each new day I’m better understanding how to be the best dad for you that I can be. 

And so, I’m excited for six.  I think it’s going to be a great year.

Love you kiddo.

Love Dad/Matticus/The Jester

the raven

This week’s post is based on lyrics from the song Love Minus Zero / No Limits by Bob Dylan.

“The wind howls like a hammer,

The night blows cold and rainy,

My love she’s like some raven,

At my window with a broken wing.”

….

Photo by Tom Swinnen on Pexels.com

The wind slammed against the side of the house and sucked at the eaves, whistling and pounding in equal measure.  He nudged the blinds enough to see out into the darkness beyond his window.  There was nothing out there but the wind driven leaves sailing in torrents away from the oak tree that stood prominently in his front yard.  Nothing should be out there.  It was too nasty, too wild.

She was, though, out in the weather.  She was on one of her adventures, reveling in the power of nature, walking the dark streets, soaking it all in.  She loved evenings like these.  He didn’t think he’d ever understand why even if, as he hoped, they were together for the rest of their lives.

He released the blinds and turned away from the window.  His thoughts swirled through the beautiful chaos of their two years of dating.  Things had been rocky at first.  She’d been so different from anyone he’d ever known, let alone attempted to date.  He’d nearly called things off very early on but there had been something about her, too, that had made him want to be patient and see what happened next.  Their dates weren’t always exciting, but she was and her stories were, and her passion for life was infectious.  As the dates progressed he’d learned to just ride the storm, as he’d come to think of it. 

The beat of the wind changed and rain began to pummel the roof in torrents.  He flicked aside the blinds again but his view was obscured by the water running down the glass.  Sighing, he turned away once more.

After the first couple dates, he’d learned pretty quickly to let her be.  She wasn’t playing the normal dating games, she wasn’t on her best behavior, she wasn’t trying to be anybody other than who she was.  It was refreshing, even if it was terrifying at times.  He’d never known anyone so wild, so free, so in love with living, so comfortable in their own skin.  At some point, also fairly early on, he’d realized that she would very likely walk away one day and that would be the end.  He was too different from her, with his need for routine, and his overall conformity.

But the months passed, the dates began to last longer and become more elaborate, he went on some of her adventures, and she moved in.  She must have seen something in him she felt was worth sticking around for because she always came back.   

The wind slammed against the side of the house, shaking the walls and rattling the rain splashed windows.  He instinctively pushed aside the blinds, searching the darkness for any sign of her.  He knew it was childish.  He knew she’d be fine out there.  But he couldn’t help it.  He was happy when she was happy, but that didn’t keep him from worrying.

The gust subsided and the sound of the rain dominated again.  He let the blinds fall back into place but didn’t turn away.  He could picture her dancing, literally dancing, through the puddles, waltzing with the wind, the trees bowing and clapping as she swirled by.  She wasn’t a leaf, though.  She wasn’t beholden to the wind.  No, she was like a raven, a dark haired beauty, wild and free, working with the storm to get to where she needed to be.  Sometimes that was an adventure.  Sometimes that was home. 

The door opened, startling him from his thoughts, and she stepped through the entryway, easing the door shut slowly, letting that last bit of the storm swirl around her and into the room.  She was radiant.  She was amazing.  He rose from the couch to take her coat and ask her all about the storm.  The smile in her eyes told him she had some great stories. 

the tower

This week’s story is based on the following lyrics from Kiss From a Rose by Seal:

“There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea.  You became the light on the dark side of me.” 

……

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Why do you always look so sad when you look out at the ocean?”

“I’m not sad.”

She smiled kindly and put a hand on his shoulder.  “I didn’t say you were sad, darling.  But, you do look sad when you stare into the distance like you were just doing.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.  He knew what she was talking about but it was going to be hard to put it into words.  He knew, too, that she wouldn’t rush him.  She was patient like that.  It was part of why he loved her, part of why he was comfortable enough around her to let his emotions walk in the past.  His eyes settled on a point just shy of the horizon and his thoughts dipped back into the years between his youth and his adulthood.  Magic years.  Haunting years.

“Have I ever told you the story of the lighthouse?”

“Is this a literal lighthouse?”

His lips twitched again, more than they had before, and the small smile betrayed his truth.  “No, not a literal lighthouse.  It’s a story, a parable or some such thing.”

“Then, no, I don’t think you’ve told me this story.”

Silence, as quiet as the beach ever was, settled around them.  The waves, gentle long rollers, washed in and dragged out, over and over.  A few pelicans gave up fishing for the moment and settled on the surface just beyond the breakers.  The breeze that sometimes roared off the water was little more than a whisper.

“Will you tell me?”

He put his hand on hers, still resting on his shoulder, and nodded.

A moment later he began, “The lighthouse stood on an island far out to sea, it was a beacon of both hope and doom.  To see its light meant were near land, but that land could be your salvation or your death, right?”

She said, “Yes, that makes sense.”

He continued, “We have many lighthouses in our lives.  People.  Memories.  They stand in the vast ocean of our minds and flash their lights at us.  You have to draw near to see the threat, to understand why the lighthouse is there, but if you get too close you will be dashed upon the cliffs, or the reef, or whatever.”

“And you see these, these ‘lighthouses,’ while you are gazing toward the horizon?” She asked.

He squeezed her hand, and answered simply, “Yes.”

“That is sad,” she murmured.

He squeezed her hand again and said, “It’s okay though.  You see, I don’t need the lighthouses anymore.  You’ve always got my back.  You are always helping light my way forward.”