Friday, October 4, 2013

Remembering Transplant Day

Cord blood, a nameless gift of deep, dark purple made its way slowly into my son's soft, five year old arm, while on his bed a toy train traced an oval track, blowing smoke for show. With unveiled irony, a massive oak dressed Caleb's window with perfect red leaves -- pretty and poised to fall.

Today, a melancholy song blows in quietly with the autumn breeze. I remember holding hope then. Then great lament. Lament, but then, not without Great hope. Wind and sky, even sidewalk trees with gilded leaves re-sound notes low and deep, like witnesses or companions to costly things I store and ponder. And I am not afraid to remember this day.