End Remarks
I remember it vividly.
I got this idea to build my husband a Web site one beautiful morning this past summer. Steve and I went out in the backyard and sat on a grassy bank beneath the shoulder of our small cherry tree. We found a patch of early morning sunshine sandwiched in between the shadow of our old two-story craftsman style house and a huge cedar . The ground was still damp so we threw down a blanket to sit on. There was a sense of naturalness to the moment and a golden aura filled in around us as we experienced the warm touch of the sun. The cats came over to sniff us and straight overhead I noticed a wasp nest hanging in the branches. The morning air was still cool and its inhabitants were still sleeping. There was a sense of movement and schedules unfolding for Seattle. It could be heard in the moans and groans of cars and busses as they made their way up and down the street in front of our house in Fremont.
I remember feeling tiny in comparison to these surroundings and the long, plump and winding path of the history of our lives. The kids’ abandoned tree house was tucked quietly beneath the skirt of the biggest cedar tree on earth, next to the morning glory covered chain linked fence. That tree stands with such a guardian presence, but it always frightens me when the wind starts to blow. A few pieces of random junk lay in the yard. Not too bad. At our feet the new deck we built was clean and functional and echoed many pleasant gatherings and dinner parties. Above were the nests of our bedrooms that kept our family close.
I looked lovingly through the big bay window into the Flynn Family Kitchen. Steve and I built it together. We are so proud of its success on so many symbolic levels. It was once such a horribly ugly puzzle of a kitchen. Poised as the heart of the house, it was a clumsy thorough fare with too many doors and not enough wall space and everything in the wrong place. Dare I mention the funky indoor-outdoor kitchen carpeting. Together, little by little, we worked on setting it right. Not perfect, not easy, but we love it! Steve and I will find it hard to leave it. I brushed up against the irrational determination that I will impossibly have to take our kitchen with me when I go.
The day was unfolding as we sat next to each other holding our coffee cups with both hands in our square of sunshine. The next few moments began to open up like soft yellow rose petals into intimate conversation between now older souls, with hair thinning and knees squeaking. In the glamour of these spotlighted moments of words I felt an in-kept smile unfold inside of me. I was filled with a concentrated dose of (empathy), love, and appreciation for this man’s presence in my life. I’ve had the privilege to be married to him for over 22 years. I know I’m a lucky woman.
Steve is someone so remarkable and extraordinary to me. He cares deeply on all issues and always takes pride in doing his very best.He is so giving and considerate of all others. He’s a gentle man. I’ve been heard to say “I’m married to a saint.” I truly mean it and that is a little scary and nerve wracking at times.
Darkness and lightness is what gives us form.
I think what was donning on me at that moment was the full extent of how much I love this man and how little I’ve expressed it openly. Does this man feel appreciated or invisible? Like when a cloud passes momentarily in front of the sun, I felt for a moment what that might feel like from his point of view. It felt invisible. I could feel surfaces and details that deserve illumination with that very sunlight. With that love light. That’s when this idea came into being. I wanted him to know I see him and have seen him all along in great detail. That I hold him dearly in my heart. That his life and being is very far from invisible to me!
Once the project began developing, it took a life of it’s own. The experience of building a Web site to my husband has been an amazing growth experience for me and the kids. I highly recommend this to every partner that’s been married a long time. The experience of the past few months of digging, building, remembering, discovering, contacting old friends, and everything else that went into researching this living tribute to my man has been so rich. The expressed vignette of perspectives that each of us have contributed have been very moving for me to read. I call it putting flesh on the bones of my skeletal story outline. These stories are the connective tissues.
I’ve fallen in love with him all over again. I cannot tell anyone how profound an experience this has been and continues to be.
Steve, I love you
Delilah
