Old habits die hard when you've got a sentimental heart

Listening: She & Him, "Sentimental Heart"

After a few failed tries at syncing our busy schedules, I finally got to meet Mister Abe. I met Lori and the Boy at the Tin Shed for brunch this past Sunday. While we had to wait for about an hour in a chilly morning to be seated, we finally got a table and settled into scrambles, grits and biscuits. I got to see a lot of his personality while we waited in the form of some of those delightful faces only babies can make (and this baby takes the whole cake) and his changing moods. A sleepy face gave way to half smiles and determination to squirm out of arms.

This was exactly what I needed, a smiling and hilarious baby. This amazing creature (Lori and Ted know they've hit the jackpot with this kiddo) reminded me of the goodness in this world, the happiness and glowing warmth that exists. What Lori didn't know going into this breakfast date (or even leaving it) was that my family suffered a tragic death this past week. The death alone is enough to cast a wide gray cloud over anyone, but the nature of it suppressed any smiles and joy we had left. I've been conflicted and confused in my grief, but I will say that seeing that slight dimple in the Boy's left cheek brightened me for days and days.

Lori and I talked a lot through our two hours together (a boy needs his sleep in his mama's lap, after all) about community and how that community can become your family. This past week for me has been frustrating in addition to being grievous. I immediately looked for plane tickets to go to Mississippi and was constantly on the phone with K$, trying to figure out a million different travel plans. Time and cost ended up hindering my attempts to get to Jackson, to embrace my parents and help where I can. It has been so infuriating to be so far away and feel helpless about the entire situation. I don't know how to handle this grief really. What I needed was my family, to see their faces. My friends here have asked what I need, offering to take me out for drinks (and my housemates cried with me over a 6-pack of Mothership Wit), hug me, love me.

When I've needed to be with my family most, I realize that some of that family is here. They are here and I need them. They are willing and able to hold me up and for that, I am truthfully and wholly thankful. This brings me back to sitting with Lori and Abe. The image is burned in my mind of a slack-mouthed baby boy sleeping soundly against his mother's form. It was enough to remind me how family grows just as theirs did, a mother and a father gaining a son, a son gaining parents. It reminded me of how family evolves, how the meaning of "family" changes over time. My heart, in its shroud of grief and conflict right now, is glad to remember that.