I didn’t look up when I spoke. The words sort of tumbled out from I don’t know where. “Why don’t you make him one anyway,” I said. My voice was soft, sort of questioning.
“Where would I send it?” she replied.
“I don’t know. Don’t you have an altar. A memorial. Maybe a place where you keep his special things?” I asked.
Then I glanced at her, slightly lifting my head to the right, to where she was sitting next to me at the table, working on her cards. A litter of pink and silver hearts and stickers. Then I saw it. A single tear had formed at the corner of her eye. It was sitting on her eyelid, suspended. I quickly turned away.
“Maybe it’s not the right thing then,” I added. I turned back to my own work. What right had I, I thought. I hardly knew this woman. We had only met that afternoon. We had been chatting while we were making Valentines Cards and over lunch at a mutual friend’s house but I didn’t know her personally. I didn’t even know who the “he” was she had referred to, or who he was to her. I only knew he had passed on a day when the world had shifted politically and that day would ever have his imprint on it.
Like Jesi. Like 9/11 did for me. So I had blurted out what I did to cope with losing my sweet sixteen year old. But the woman sitting beside me didn’t know anything about that. And I didn’t say anything about it either. I just continued making my cards.
But when Valentines Day came around for the third time since Jesi left her body, her card sat on my altar and I know, although I didn’t have any special sense or message from her on the day itself, that she was aware of my love for her.
Less than three weeks ago I felt her presence strongly in my room just near the altar. It was the first night I spent in my new apartment and I was in that place between wakefulness and sleep. I sensed her dance into the room, light and full of joy. She hovered above me in the space between my bed and her altar. I knew why she had come. She was telling me she was overjoyed for my moving into a place of my own, a small apartment in the woods.
I know not to expect Spirit to visit at my will. I am learning to trust in Jesi’s presence despite not always being able to control or sense it as I might like to. That is the task I have been given and I am embracing it.
Perhaps that has something to do with my blurting out what I did around the crafting table that afternoon…