Impossible. Time
marches. So many of her growing years were spent in Charlotte, in a Dilworth
bungalow that no longer exists: sold, torn down, and replaced by something
grand.
She slept in the
back bedroom, one window shaded by a Sasanqua Camelia and the other opening
onto the Launt's backyard and a shared driveway. On her handed-down baby chest,
there was a piggy bank. Her first word as she pointed was, "pig."
Her first birthday
was spent in the hospital where I was on bed-rest and a heparin drip, 7 months
pregnant with Clara. An unusual snow that week made travel difficult for
Traylor, but we managed to eat birthday cake.
I see the two
sisters happily toddling around in a shared room with white bunk-beds and a
colorful play kitchen complete with an oven, a table for tea parties, and
dozens of stuffed animals to feed.
Caroline's favorite was a floppy monkey.
She was full of
mischief and always a step ahead of my expectations. One ordinary morning as I
was feeding Clara, I heard splashing in the bathroom and ran to find Caroline
dipping her hair in the toilet and flinging the water up over her head in a
perfect arc for a photographer, alarming for a mother. Then, one Easter,
Caroline learned how to lock the bathroom door, but couldn't figure out how to
unlock it. Traylor had to remove a glass pane and climb in through the window
to get her out. That summer, she locked herself into a hot car with my keys,
Clara and me on the outside in a gigantic parking lot.
Her eleventh
birthday, she went on a field trip with her school class and came home to find
a new puppy on her bed. She announced, "I didn't want a puppy." Comet
lived up to her name by escaping and chasing everything including baby
carriages and soccer balls on the school field until we finally gave her to
someone who had 100 acres in the country.
When Caroline was a
sensitive teenager, she invited some friends over for a birthday party and had fun
preparing the snacks. But at the party, Traylor meaning to be funny, handed out
"barf bags," saying that they might need these since Caroline had
made the food. She has not recovered
from this nor forgiven him to this day. Her own fierce-often base-humor may
well be retaliation.
Just a few memories...
Since her 16th
birthday, I probably don't know so much about how she has celebrated. She has a
way of being her own person, and I might as well accept her as she is at 30!
She has a nicely decorated condo of her own now, and she is a talented,
accomplished and successful adult. Today, I celebrate her.
I know this one
thing: I love her beyond even my own comprehension.
Prayer
Blue eyes lost in music,
blond hair gliding back
and forth across a violin,
wrist rhythms flowing
into sound. Within
the euphony, my spirit
flies upward, awed.
Creation of flesh,
wondrous, symphonic
instrument transforming
beauty into art,
one melodious song,
a harmony of the moment.
Let me cherish
the eternal dance
of this soul with mine.
©2002 Diana Renfro
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