I visited Aaron today.
We sit on the edge of the cow pasture. Two cows pass. One timidly sniffs the other. The other shyly steps to the side, casting huge cow eyes at the other. She wiggles her thing. I knew Aaron would laugh.
A crow caws. The nearby magnolia tree is dropping its seeded pods, impregnated with life, blood-red afterbirth hangs from its individual wombs. A stray cow runs by. It stops and looks at us then runs further up...stops...bellows...looks aimlessly for one of its own. It bellows again before running in the direction of its herd.
I ask Aaron if I can sit next to him. He doesn't mind. I'm Aunt Cay, afterall. It's been too long since we last visited. I use to see Aaron once, sometimes twice, a year. Life moves on. I still see him only once a year. The last time we had a really good talk, was at PawPaw's birthday party.
He was in my living room changing baby Ben's diaper. We had a good laugh, I don't remember about what. But it was good. I remember Aaron's gentle voice. The tenderness of his arm when he hugged me good-bye. Life moves on.
A windchime, dancing from the magnolia tree, sings with the friendly breeze. After weeks of rain and gray dismal-ness, the sky smiles a kool-aid blue with a cloudy toothy grin. Bees thirst on bouquets of flowers at each individual resting spot. A lawnmower and weedeater vibrate in the distance. A six pack of cows wander by. Two butt heads. A third one does a wheelie. It's a perfect October day. A beautiful day. A day to be enhaled, gulped, celebrated. Life renews itself.
Aaron has always loved this place. Allison once described how much Aaron loved coming to this picnic area and lying in the grass...watching those cows...laughing...talking...dreaming...bringing her and Ben to wonder in the pasture with him. I see why.
Somewhere overhead a plane gurgles in that kool-aid sky.
Aaron shows me the little toy motorbike parked on his lap. I'm quite sure his son Ben left it there. At any rate, it is intended for little Ben. Every child needs a toy to play with when they visit their Daddy.
I see that Aaron now has a friend with him. Her name is Meagan. She's 24 years old; he's 27. To me Aaron will always be 27. I'm sure they have lots to talk about so I tell him it's time for me to leave. I promise to come see him next October, perhaps sooner...in June I might visit and bring Uncle Mark with me.
So I leave Aaron and Meagan under the kool-aid sky with the mischievious cows, the thirsty bees, and the seeding of life that, in its hidden slumber, promises a rebirth and renewal of life.
The Aaron I knew is here in this beautiful gentle place surrounded by life. The Aaron that God knows is, if we can only imagine, in a much better place. And he's celebrating his heavenly birthday with Meme and PawPaw and cousin Andrew and all the angels and saints. The communion of saints is a wonderful thing and we are blessed to be a part of it.
Aaron's mother once told me that Aaron had a poet's soul. It's sad that he wasn't able to use his talent to its fullest potential...he's gone much too young...but, in God's own way, his life becomes a celebration, a message, a slumbering song. And life goes on.
We sit on the edge of the cow pasture. Two cows pass. One timidly sniffs the other. The other shyly steps to the side, casting huge cow eyes at the other. She wiggles her thing. I knew Aaron would laugh.
A crow caws. The nearby magnolia tree is dropping its seeded pods, impregnated with life, blood-red afterbirth hangs from its individual wombs. A stray cow runs by. It stops and looks at us then runs further up...stops...bellows...looks aimlessly for one of its own. It bellows again before running in the direction of its herd.
I ask Aaron if I can sit next to him. He doesn't mind. I'm Aunt Cay, afterall. It's been too long since we last visited. I use to see Aaron once, sometimes twice, a year. Life moves on. I still see him only once a year. The last time we had a really good talk, was at PawPaw's birthday party.
He was in my living room changing baby Ben's diaper. We had a good laugh, I don't remember about what. But it was good. I remember Aaron's gentle voice. The tenderness of his arm when he hugged me good-bye. Life moves on.
A windchime, dancing from the magnolia tree, sings with the friendly breeze. After weeks of rain and gray dismal-ness, the sky smiles a kool-aid blue with a cloudy toothy grin. Bees thirst on bouquets of flowers at each individual resting spot. A lawnmower and weedeater vibrate in the distance. A six pack of cows wander by. Two butt heads. A third one does a wheelie. It's a perfect October day. A beautiful day. A day to be enhaled, gulped, celebrated. Life renews itself.
Aaron has always loved this place. Allison once described how much Aaron loved coming to this picnic area and lying in the grass...watching those cows...laughing...talking...dreaming...bringing her and Ben to wonder in the pasture with him. I see why.
Somewhere overhead a plane gurgles in that kool-aid sky.
Aaron shows me the little toy motorbike parked on his lap. I'm quite sure his son Ben left it there. At any rate, it is intended for little Ben. Every child needs a toy to play with when they visit their Daddy.
I see that Aaron now has a friend with him. Her name is Meagan. She's 24 years old; he's 27. To me Aaron will always be 27. I'm sure they have lots to talk about so I tell him it's time for me to leave. I promise to come see him next October, perhaps sooner...in June I might visit and bring Uncle Mark with me.
So I leave Aaron and Meagan under the kool-aid sky with the mischievious cows, the thirsty bees, and the seeding of life that, in its hidden slumber, promises a rebirth and renewal of life.
The Aaron I knew is here in this beautiful gentle place surrounded by life. The Aaron that God knows is, if we can only imagine, in a much better place. And he's celebrating his heavenly birthday with Meme and PawPaw and cousin Andrew and all the angels and saints. The communion of saints is a wonderful thing and we are blessed to be a part of it.
Aaron's mother once told me that Aaron had a poet's soul. It's sad that he wasn't able to use his talent to its fullest potential...he's gone much too young...but, in God's own way, his life becomes a celebration, a message, a slumbering song. And life goes on.
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