In one moment, life changes. Like when it brought us to what you called our tipping point: that dot on your back—melanoma.
My darling, do you remember your computer portrait? From the souvenir shop? The one in Niagara Falls. The one of your face printed in grey letters? We were on our way to visit your parents in Montreal – before we had the boys.
I love that portrait. Keep it in my office.
I miss everything about you, most of all, I miss your face: teasing eyes, tender smile. So today, I pulled out my art supplies and copied the outline of your face – from that computer portrait – onto a large canvas. I used the grey shades from that set of oil pastels—the one you gave me on my birthday. Then, I set the canvas on my easel in the center of our family room.
I decide the boys, and I can fill in the details of your face with words—your favorite things – like that song from The Sound of Music.
Your sister thinks I’m shoving their faces in it – with our boys being so young and all, but their faces are in it anyway – that’s what I told her. All our faces are in it.
Yvonne called from preschool. She’s David’s favorite teacher. I am sorry you never met her—she’s tall, funny, sweet. You would love her, and she would have loved you. Yvonne helped David and Alex start the school air band, pounding together scrap word for guitars and drums.
Yvonne created Band Time. So, after lunch, David and Alex play Beatles CDs using your old CD player. David lugs it to school. It seems their classmates love it—singing and dancing. Yvonne booked them as the entertainment on Parent Day.
But here is the lovely thing I need you to know. Yvonne called to tell me that our little David scales the playground climbing tree every recess—not up and down like the other kids. He climbs up and sits there. She told me the first time he sat through recess, she thought he was stuck, so she went over to help him down.
“I’m not stuck,” he told her. “I’m looking for my Daddy… in the clouds.”
Yvonne choked up and said, “Now I stand next to him, and we look for his Daddy together. In the clouds.”
Told you, she’s a sweetheart.
During lunchtime, David told his friends he loves cherry pie, just like his Daddy. You know, this is true.
So, I tell Yvonne about your portrait. That we are drawing the details of your face with words – the things you loved. She likes the idea. I tell her that cherry pie is perfect for your eyebrows.
Cherry pie. I got that recipe from your mother.
David and I added cherry pie to the canvas – twice. Cherry pie eyebrows.
David’s printing is coming along beautifully. He left me a note that made me cry. It started, Mom You then he scratched out those two words. He moved to the center of the paper and wrote in capital letters (those are the only ones he knows so far), MOM, YOU HAVE TO PLAY NOW! He even added an exclamation point, that kid.
Well, it’s true. I’ve been woefully absent from his Lego play table. At least David is sending clear messages.
And our darling oldest son? You probably remember Mr. Marchant. Joel’s school counselor? Well, Mr. Marchant calls twice a week to check on us. Seems our Joel starts his day gathering himself together in Mr. Marchant’s office. And then Mr. Marchant walks Joel to class, making sure the teachers remember that this one here has a broken heart.
Even when you were so sick, I remember you told Joel, “That guy’s a mensch.”
Today, after school, the boys ran into the house, breathless, after playing hockey on the deck. They stop short at your portrait. Both of them. Frozen, studying your face.
After some time, Joel said, “Mom, make his eyes out of the word Joel.”
I stand beside our boys, watching Joel touch your face tenderly, right where he wants us to put your eyes.
“Great idea,” I sigh. My eyes, well, you probably know.
Then David shoved his brother and whined, “Jerk, what about me?”
Joel turned to David – get this – put his arm around him, pulled him close. “Well, Mom, let’s make one eye out of Joel and one eye out of David.”
David’s face lit up. He even squeezed his brother’s arm.
It didn’t stop there.
Joel said, “Daddy called me Sport. Put Sport on his chin. And Mom, he called you Pumpkin. Write Pumpkin on his cheek.” He looked down at his brother, his arm still around our squirt. “Write Little Sport for David.”
And it just went on from there. Our boys – on a roll. David offers: “Hockey, pucks, sticks, ice, Zamboni.” Joel adds: “Canadians, Montreal, Quebec, Canada. Bubby. Zadie.”
Get this, Joel says, “Now put we love you, Daddy, on his lips.”
And David whispers, “Just like a kiss.”
And me? I’m so busy scribing that I don’t bother wiping tears from my face.
But maybe you already know this.
MARY-FRANCES SCHNEIDER 