For Granted

We spent the weekend doing the things we like to do: playing cards, cooking big meals while dancing around, pranking one another, visiting the turtles, acting dumb at the grocery store, turning on one in changing alliances of two. It was our last weekend together at home before my older son leaves and it’s been one of alternate mourning and joy. I kept thinking, “This is the last time I’ll be able to take this for granted.” But on Sunday the rather obvious thought occurred to me: “The time I could take this for granted has already long passed.” I don’t know when it passed, must have been months or even a year ago. But I’ve been weighing and measuring these days for a long while. And in doing so, I’ve been making the most of them. This didn’t stop my grief, but it dulled it quite a bit. The flip side of this feeling is a deep appreciation for the family culture we built. I don’t take it for granted, it was a difficult effort of invention and reinvention. I have worked hard at it; at finding things that we all enjoy doing, at enjoying things they enjoy because it keeps us tethered. The July/August issue of Poetry arrived just in time. In it was the poem “Twelve” by Lynn Melnick. Do you subscribe to Poetry? Do. You won’t regret it.

Our prompt is “when I was your age…” written to a child you know. It might not be easy. But the best things never are.