The hits that hit from outta nowhere

In the past, I've called it ambush grief: those moments of memory and sadness that come upon you when you're not expecting it. Lately I've been thinking about the various significant dates I've yet to cross - our one year wedding anniversary being the biggest one after the obvious - but as much as I can prepare for those, it is the little moments that surprise me out of nowhere that seem hardest. Perhaps this is specifically because they're occurrence comes as a surprise.

Halloween is still months away, but this evening my mind turned to it. It was getting late and I was watching a movie, when I decided to make myself a snack. I pulled a new bag of edamame, which has become my movie watching snack of choice, from the freezer. It was all so normal and natural, but when I went to open the bag things changed. I opened the drawer and reached for the handle of what I thought was the scissors I paused. Instead of the scissors I was holding the pumpkin carving tool we bought at Pathmark off of 2nd avenue on the night of October 30, 2008.

Karen, as I'm sure most if not all teachers, was having an Halloween party the next day and we were picking up a few last minute supplies. Two of which were pumpkins to be carved into Jack-o-Lanterns. The carving tool was almost an afterthought of a purchase, but having tried in the past to carve pumpkins with regular knifes I suggested we invest in one. It was, in my opinion, well worth it. That night, while Karen rested and worked on her lesson plan for the abbreviated day, I carved the two pumpkins into the best Jack-o-Lanterns I could. Then, after the carving was done, I rinsed, roasted, and salted the seeds so that she could take them to class and let the kids try them.

The roasting, however, took longer than I thought and by the time I was done Karen had already gone off to bed. I tried to pack everything up as best I could and then joined her. The next morning, as we had been doing nearly every morning, I walked with her to school, the two of us carrying the pumpkins, food, and decorations for the party. I only heard later from parents about how she greeted the class at the door that morning wearing her Mardi Gras mask and explaining to them that she was Karen's European cousin Katarina, in town to cover the class.

While I never saw her playing that role, I can see it clearly in my mind. Her joie de vivre matched only by her theatrics and character acting, which came across as effortlessly as her students own playful nature. I picture her standing at the door, greeting each costumed student in her lilting faux-French-accented English, joyously describing the little town in, perhaps southern France where she came from and how excited she was to meet Karen's class. I think back on that and on the things I knew about her as a teacher and think, she is the kind of teacher I would have loved. She loved her class and loved teaching. For her it was a chance to leave the adult world for the day and be a kid again. That isn't to say she didn't take her responsibilities seriously, she did almost to a fault. She recognized the importance of her job and her effect on the students, but she also knew that kids needed to be kids and made sure they HAD FUN even while they were learning.

I know that Karen would have been an amazing mother. She positively radiated it. As I stood in the kitchen this evening, bag of frozen edamame on the counter and pumpkin cutting tool in my hand, I knew that James had a mother that would have done anything for him. She would have made sure he grew up surround by unconditional love, with the encouragement to be whatever he wanted to be, and most of all with the encouragement to experience the wonders of the world as she did and beyond.

It is strange how a simple $2.39 piece of plastic and metal from a supermarket can become such a power item and evoke so many feelings. Yet that is how the memories flow, triggered by the seemingly ordinary or routine things and instances.