That Song

It’s the last day and night of June, little sweetheart. Today has been the hottest day of the year, so far. 97f at its peak here in the late afternoon.

Tonight, I don’t know why, I thought of looking up something on YouTube. It was something that had been on TV and rather a phenomenon at the time, so much so that my mom had sent me a link to watch it. It was that clip of Susan Boyle singing “I Dreamed a Dream” from Les Miserables. I remember it being a little extraordinary as it was one of those awful TV talent shows and as she was older and didn’t look like a model or something that everyone was rather mean and dismissive when she came out and then shocked, and hopefully ashamed of themselves, to hear how wonderfully she sang.

I remember telling you about it and although you agreed with all that you were less excited because, as you told me, you had “a relationship with that song”, yourself. I didn’t quite know what you meant, little sweetheart, but I thought I understood.

When I finally did hear you sing it, it was from a performance that had been filmed when you were only 12 years old. They played it at your memorial on a huge screen at the back of the stage. You were still a little girl but all of you, all I would come to know, was there in your eyes as you sang expressively, soaringly and beautifully.

Your memorial, of course, was held, incredibly, on my own birthday. A day we’d meant to spend rehearsing a play of mine in New York, then driving to Philadelphia that night to see Low play at the storied indie venue at The First Unitarian Church on Chestnut Street. Instead I was here at the Brava Theatre in The Mission in San Francisco about to give your eulogy.

As in all things, little sweetheart, I followed you. After they showed you singing “I Dreamed a Dream”, the tears still rolling down my cheeks, I got up with the words I’d written for you and stood at the podium in silence for a long moment before I could finally gather myself enough to begin.

When I hear that song now, I, too, have a relationship with it, little sweetheart. One that you gave me, like so many other things that I treasure, that saved and redeem me.

How I love you! Forever, my angel. Forever.

Fathers

Today is Father’s Day, little sweetheart. My own father has been gone now longer than I had him in my life. And I find my thoughts are both of your own lovely father and regrets that I didn’t get the chance, as you told me and told your mother, too, that you wanted to raise a child yourself with me.

I sent your dad a card last week and a chocolate cake that was meant to arrive on Friday. I called him today to wish him a Happy Father’s Day and we spoke for some time. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him or your mom or really anybody, because of the pandemic and not being able to travel.

He was kind of winding up the call when I finally asked if he got the cake. He hadn’t! I had an alert that it had been delivered so he went looking for it, sharing the adventure with me on FaceTime. The company sends the cakes packed in dry ice so that they keep well and we found that instead of leaving it at the front doorstep or the backdoor table, that they’d tucked it under the edge of a little bush near the front door so that it would be in the shelter of some shade there. Your dad took it inside and reported that it was fine, thank goodness!

And, well, that’s my story - ha! Anyway, thinking of you, my little sweetheart on this day and every day. With all my love forever…

It's All In Here

Little sweetheart, just as I was about to go to bed last night, I heard quite a commotion outside. Curious, the window already open, I removed the screen and looked out. Across the avenue, people were pointing up to the buildings on this side and taking pictures as the sirens of emergency vehicles could be heard approaching. I looked to the right and three buildings down I could see flames bursting out of a window on one of the upper floors there.

Smoke soon filled the air and half a dozen fire trucks arrived, one of them raising its ladder to the roof of our building, as they opened fire hoses on the building three doors down at the corner. I could hear breaking glass and I got dressed in case we had to evacuate. I went across the hall and told both neighbors.

It was very frightening. My whole life with you is here, your pictures all around me.

They had the fire under control soon, in about half an hour. There were no serious injuries. They closed this block to traffic for more than an hour and then slowly began to peel away until everything was returned to relative normality. It certainly gave me perspective. All the stupid little things I worry about. And it gave way to a sense of greater gratitude.

I was so stirred up I couldn’t get to sleep until after 5am. The birds were already singing sweetly at my window. I said our prayers and finally lay down to rest. Grateful for you, my angel. You, who always keep me safe.

With all my love.

This

I had the most wonderful dream last night little sweetheart.

Not all of the details remain but you were with me, we were together and you were sleeping in my arms. You stirred, sleepy-eyed, caressing me and said quietly, intently “don’t forget this” in a way that seemed to suggest both that I should take the memory of it with me upon waking and also, in the moment of the dream itself, not to forget your touch and my own in response, to remember sensorially, to remember to reach for you and how we find one another.

Yes, little sweetheart. Always.
 

Best Days

Little sweetheart, I was just writing about the wonderful birthday we spent together in Davis. You made me the most delicious chocolate cupcakes and took me to see DCfC in Sacramento and we had the whole weekend together alone. 

This picture was taken right after the show back home in the kitchen together. One of the happiest nights of my life. 

Thank you, my gorgeous girl. Love you forever.

 

 
 

Elliott Smith

I remember, little sweetheart, that although I knew a little bit about him and had heard a song or two, that I suddenly bought Elliott Smith’s album “Either/Or”, maybe because I read something or possibly because I heard a track on WFMU. Maybe it was because I had finally seen “Good Will Hunting” for the first time - ha!  

Anyway, I told you about it and I’ll never forget what you said. You told me to wait before I listened because it was sad and that you wanted to be with me when I first heard it.
 

I wrote that down on an index card a week or two ago, remembering, and it’s here on my desk. I’m looking at it now and thinking, as I always am, of you.

With all my love forever.