Posts Tagged "after-life"

Tatiana clings to me, her legs wrapped beneath my 9-month preg­nant belly, while the other Marin Day School tod­dlers push balls, rakes, minia­ture vac­u­ums, and each other around in the out­door play area of the preschool. Pri­mary col­ored toys are scat­tered everywhere—many of which Erik had cleaned only two months before, when he donated his time to Tatiana’s school to make some “minor repairs.” Erik was sup­posed to fix a cou­ple of loose locks over a week­end, but the teach­ers returned to a new gar­den of pot­ted flow­ers, re-stained benches and sand­box, and a large rain­bow play-structure that had been flipped and scrubbed from bot­tom to top. When he walked through the metal gate to bring Tatiana there the next day, the...

I walked in slow-motion towards Erik’s closed, mahogany casket. The old stone chapel was filled with famil­iar faces. There were faces from Sky­walker Ranch and other Lucas par­ties, faces I had pho­tographed in my stu­dio, faces from my bridal shower, my wed­ding, and Tatiana’s birth. I kept my head down. As the preg­nant widow, all eyes were on me, but I did not want to be seen. Direct eye con­tact would break me open in a way that I would not be ready to be bro­ken open for years. Dressed in an ankle-length mater­nity skirt, long-sleeve black shirt, and the com­fort­able three-inch heels that had taken me hours to find just the day before, I sat in the front pew. My brother, Troy, and his wife, Jen, sat next to me. Only ten feet ...

I stretched out on the green vel­vet couch, my legs rest­ing in Carlyn’s lap. My statue of Quan Yin, the God­dess of Com­pas­sion, hov­ered above us, on the fire­place man­tle. Quan Yin was peace­ful and wise—exactly what I strived to be—her stone arms out in front of her, her hands open wide. The light from the can­dles illu­mi­nated Carlyn’s long, curly brown hair. Her green eyes con­nected with mine. We were present, no lies between us, no false pretense. Car­lyn spoke softly. “I keep see­ing his face … Erik’s face.” I stared at her, blankly, and said nothing. “Over your shoul­der, his eyes look­ing at me. Do you see him like that?” “No,” I told her. “I haven’t seen him or felt him since just a cou­ple of...