Love

I never have a camera when I really need one - this picture was taken with my phone, and it's fuzzy and incomplete. Tonight, my quirky 4 year old was a star. He is that critical one degree off from center, just enough different that people think he fits in but he doesn't, quite. Tonight, though, he was the main event, and I've never seen such joy. He decided to try jumping off the diving board, and as he dithered and fretted like any nervous 4 year old but more so, everyone at the pool gathered around and supported him. Instead of yelling at him to hurry up or get off the board, as I'm sure I would at their age, the other kids in line started chanting and clapping their encouragement. By the time I got on the board myself and tossed him in to put us all out of our...not misery, but anticipation, people were placing bets on what he would do. I later heard that a child we don't even know was being herded from the pool at this time and protested to his father, "please, wait, I want to see what happens." I grew up in a small town, and even so I've never seen such a thing, where one child's fear and excitement transports a community. I don't think it was just the ever-present alcohol that brought tears to my eyes. My children are so lucky, to have this love in their lives.

Love is the strangest thing. Everyone feels it, and who can define it? Of course I love the boy - I "grew him out of me," as he says - but what motivated all these friends and strangers to see past his obstreperousness to the momentous occasion it was for him? What, for that matter, makes all the lovely people in my life tolerate my recently near-constant drunkenness and frequent weepiness? It feels like sheer ingratitude to be anything other than radiant with joy in the face of such an unasked for, undeserved outpouring of kindness and acceptance.

I still often wish for the imagination and courage to write, and feel like something of a failure for falling back on medicine. If I had the courage, and the perseverance, I would begin my writing career with some kind of testimonial to friendship, some kind of homage to the friends who hold me up with their laughter and love. The ones who kiss me and say they love me, even when I let them down. The people who know everything about me and those one step removed who offer their support on faith alone. The kind strangers who love my children on my behalf, or me on theirs, and cheer on my strange son at a moment that could have been mundane but which these beautiful rare people rendered transcendent.