At your memorial brunch, they served the sweetest Grapes. I thought of the taste for days afterwards. But when I bought my own, they tasted sour in comparison. I sat outside with my husband, remembering last summers visits. How you noticed everything. A comment for my daughters matching outfit. The way you cared about the choices I was making for her. You asked of summer camps and summer toys and I sat with you and watched the neighbor care for his garden.
He was there again. This time I watched the Cardinals and enjoyed seeing my husbands joy in them. I showed him things you showed me. The deck. The summer chairs you loved. (I think I will forever feel the guilt of breaking yours. I feel the loss for that chair). The way the porch was made to "almost" fit the sukkah.
And then I got passed with a card. "When I think of Eva, I think of..."
And I couldn't write anything then. Maybe not even now.
But, as husbands go- mine is always right. Even when I tell him he is so very wrong.
He said I owed them a cue card. But, I owe no one what I don't know yet.
My husband took two cue cards home with him and when I was quietly sitting at the table, he handed them to me.
I took them and stared.
When I think of Eva I think of life. I can not picture her not alive. She was so real. So larger than life. She didn't have to pause and she never really did.
So I didn't think. I try not to think.
Today I noticed at your stone that the font is so familiar. Your name is exactly the way it was on your office door. And I felt tears falling when I had the most perfect memory.
I pass the secretary desk and see your name on the door. In that font. And I peek in and youre on the phone. You let me come in and I fall so comfortably into the chair across from you. I listen to the rest of your conversation.
I think those years teaching at spring farm were my best years.
I was so happy there.
You gave me that job as an aunt. I didn't deserve it.
But, every day I proved myself and nothing felt better than you noticing.
I can see you coming into the classroom while Chanie is teaching, and we meet at the sink and talk. You always peeked your head in for a few minutes, even seconds.
But you were funny, witty, and if you had to be serious- you were kind and quick.
I can not believe you are not here.
I think to myself that you loved living. That you showed others how.
You made teachers better teachers and parents better parents.
You made us laugh.
You liked the coffee I used to bring you from second cup. This was before Starbucks.
And you ordered tuna pitas from not just yogurt.
But I know you placed the orders for me to get some fresh air. It was our shared laugh.
"Naomi, I will send you out later."
And I would wait to hear what for.
Later life drew me to you.
I got to bring you little tokens of flowers or fruits.
But really, I came for the company.
I came to see you sitting at your chair in the kitchen.
To hear your rendition of your day. To have you hear mine.
To me, because I missed your funeral, you are very much alive.
I have to remind myself that you are not here.
The font on your stone is cruel. It reminds me all too well.
When I think about Eva what don't I think about?
