I wasn't going to say anything. Nine eleven was yesterday. A catastrophic flood-- the aftermath from Hurricane Lee-- has wrecked homes and lives all through upstate New York. There are big problems, big things to worry about.
I wasn't going to tell you that one of our cats got hit by a car.
And yet, digging down into the ground together this morning, Patrick and I, as the fog lifted reluctantly off the hills and the dew dried in the weeds, there was beauty. I wanted to tell you. There was beauty in the way we swatted each others' mosquitoes and leaned back and forth, leaning back as the other leaned forward to scrape more dirt out from around the roots of our birch tree. There was beauty in the way we gathered goldenrod and asters, working together, sharing tears.
It reminded me-- and not that I needed a reminder-- of how much I love Patrick. He isn't afraid to feel things alongside me-- even if those things are grief and sadness. I'm grateful. It's the sort of thing that's going to make the empty spot on top of the fridge a little easier to bear.