A Whisper of Breath
I had my week planned - art all week. I was going to talk about growing up with an artist (my dad) and that literally as far back as I can remember, art is there. And then yesterday my dear friend told me that closing arguments in her daughter’s murder case would be today, and I told her I wanted to go with her to the courthouse. She said she would rather I stayed home and kept her daughter’s memory close to me. So, I did. With the whisper of breath used to say her name, I kept her here with me and my grand-daughter as I made Playdough from scratch (which I hadn’t done since my children were toddlers and pre-schoolers). Dear Megan (there, I whispered her name again) loved arts and crafts. As a young adult (she was barely 21 when she died) she still loved them, and would buy supplies for her friends’ kids so they could craft things. We had fun today, the three of us. I could almost feel Meg laugh as my grand-daughter took a bite of her neon handful of squishy fun and made a face usually reserved for something like brussel sprouts or yogurt (okay...I love brussel sprouts, but yogurt I just don’t get). I found out this afternoon that the jury now has the case. And I feel like I did as much for my friend by staying home as I could have done for her there. After all, I laid down a new memory of her daughter, with just a whisper.
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