Six years

The phone rang off the hook. I didn't recognize the number on caller id and I was nannying, so I didn't answer.  Again and again, it rang.  Finally a number I recognized appeared.


"Emily, it's Ruth.  Your friends have been calling here all day trying to get ahold of you.  They have something really important to tell you. I think you should call them back."


Dumbfounded, I sank into a chair.  What I originally insisted must be a cruel joke sank in as reality.  Annika carried her kiisu to me, set Snowflake in my lap and took my hand in hers, placing it atop Snowflake's white head as he began to purr.  "When I'm sad, kiisu helps me feel better," she explained.

Annika and I on another occasion; cuddled up for a sick day

Together, Annika, Oliver, and I garnered enough courage and composure to deal with the situation and arranged play-dates for each of the children.  I walked through the neighborhood making small talk with other parents, explaining my situation and thanking them profusely for their help.


When I got back to the house, my mom and Ruth were waiting for me out front with their bicycles.  Worried about me, they had come to my rescue as they have time and time again.  I thrust my leg over the frame of my own trusty steed, thanked my family for meeting me, then rode in the direction of home, pedaling as hard as I could. I wanted to ride infinitely, to lean into the wind and ride past the city limits, past suburbia, past any memory of the message that a dear friend had passed away.

Healing

I was learning to ride a bicycle.  We lived on a corner lot at the time, with a cobblestone driveway that arched around the back perimeter of the property.  Those of us who learned to ride our bicycles there would circle the house and yard, perfecting our new skill until the breeze against our skin caused such joy that we would open our mouths, smile and laugh aloud without regard.


I turned the corner from the driveway east onto the sidewalk that ran parallel to the street adjoining the north side of our house, feeling the thud-thud-thud of the sidewalk cracks under my soft wheels in time with my heartbeat.  Suddenly - and I can still picture this uneven crack between the cement squares - my wheels made a grinding sound instead of the rhythmic thudding, and I found myself on the ground, staring up at the clear blue Kansas sky through the still-naked branches of my favorite climbing tree.  Slowly I lifted my head to examine my scraped and bloodied knee and elbow.  I opened my mouth and began to wail, convinced I felt more pain in that moment than I ever would in my life.


My sister Ingrid, seven years my senior, jumped from the front porch where she was reading a book, and ran to kneel beside me.  Ascertaining that I was not critically injured, she offered what seemed to me esteemed medical attention: "Do you want some artificial perspiration?"


"Yes!" I cried.


"Do you know what that is?" her eyes twinkled and the corners of her mouth rose slightly.


"No!" I sobbed.


"Fake sweat."


Laughter broke through my sobs and soon I forgot the Worst Pain in the Universe.

Beautiful Collision

I went to church today and a woman spoke of a beautiful collision in which G-d shone as a light from each of our hearts.


I feel I was in such a collision last Wednesday night. Cycling along Washington Avenue in downtown Minneapolis, joyous at the clear night air grazing my cheekbones as I cruised into an intersection with a green light, I heard Evie shout from behind me and knew a car was coming.  Red, line, line, line. I hit by the gas tank and flew, bailed right - not into the intersection.  Lights - everything was white light. Pavement crashed against my helmet. My bicycle frame landed on top of me.  Lights, bright white lights, honking, save the bike, get out of the street.  Evie. People running toward me. Are you okay? Are you okay? Yeah, I'm okay!  I had the green, right? We had the green? Yes, you had the green. Yes, we had the right of way. Are you okay? My elbow's scraped. I'm okay.


A beautiful collision. I survived. I probably shouldn't have.  This feels miraculous.


A woman spoke at church today.  She said she saw a beautiful collision in which everything became light, bright white light, which was God, emanating from each of our hearts.