June 24: Treasures

I was sitting in a meeting today with a woman who had tiny, kinetic hands that she used emphatically while talking. Without rhyme or reason, those hands brought me remembrances of a friend. Jill is one of those people that I have seen a handful of times in a decade but whom I’ll always consider one of my dearest friends. I have so many things about her that I could praise. She has a brilliant mind and a sparkling wit that make her a delight to talk with for hours. She has a heart bigger than Texas and a giggle that takes years off my body and soul the moment it reaches my ears. She has a hug that is a seven course meal in comfort.

I would never have named Jill’s hands in the top 20 things I note and adore about her. But my heavens, this woman today in the meeting had Jill hands. Delicate little appendages that could rule the world with a mere pointed finger.

It got me thinking about how the smallest nuance in a person’s posture, or a turn of phrase, or even their mere features can trigger a memory at random. Can make me viscerally miss someone. Can bring to my present an emotion from my past.

For over a year after a break-up with a past love, I would seek his profile in every face that I gazed upon. My eyes would thirst for him. It was almost desperate how I'd scan the masses seeking just one face. I have no other way to explain it. My soul was starved for his presence. Withdrawal and mourning. 

We spend years cradling love for each other in our hearts - holding that image of him as the vision of what was. When it ended, we were supposed to go cold turkey. Cut off the emotions that had been created, nurtured and venerated for years. My heart didn't agree with this approach. I had to wean myself from it all. I lost the desire to find glimpses of him in others as time went on. Even today though, every now and again, in a certain line of the shoulders, or the flash of a brilliant toothy smile, I’ll see him. And my eyes drink in that curve. I drink deeply from it.

A dear friend had a saying, “Shut the light.” I have heard several Italians use this vernacular. It always brings me to a period in my life that was filled with warmth like I’ve never known. So does “freakin’” incidentally. New Jersey Italians…

I don’t know what it is within a person that can reserve the nooks and crannies of my heart. I only know that today, a pair of hands made me aware that there are absolutely places in my heart that seek a gesture, a line of the body, a turn of phrase. My heart is full of such treasures. My heart is full.

The Cranberries - Dream