remembering.

After your parents divorce, is it still okay to talk about funny, normal things?

For example: my parents both took Italian in college.

On the way up to the lake, we pulled into a parking lot of a church by our house to secure the canoe on the suburban. My dad took a picture and my mother said, don't take the picture until I pull my pants down. She almost fell over laughing. My grandpa and dad exchanged eyes and laughed and I laughed until I cried. We reminded her of it the entire vacation. We make too light of these instances, dismissing them as the butter when they are really the bread.

Mom's mispronunciations of Krusteaz pancakes at Christmas time. The bag of pistachios grandma always gave dad. A new skillet one year when the tree was in the living room, all white on the floor and the walls.

Mom always bought a special treat for my father on the way home from Costco. He always gave her flowers on their anniversary.

One year they went to Fitgers up in Duluth with my baby brother Brennan, and they came home with a stuffed moose.

When Chloe and I were old enough to watch The Lord of the Rings, we spent several weeks watching the trilogy with mom and dad. We watched all the credits on the last movie, a tradition I continue. We stayed up late looking up our Elvish and Hobbit names online.

My mother was embarrassed with public displays of affection, even if public meant our living room.

Who will get the car bed? We asked, and mom said, it will stay at grandma and grandpa Martin's. When there was still going to be a grandma and grandpa Martin's.

My mother took photos of my grandpa eating on our trip to California. My dad loved it. There's a photo of the two of them eating icecream when they were dating and it's still on my grandpa's easel.

In an apartment I shouldn't remember because I was too little, we turned on the tall, sleek black lamp and the light in the room was a warm, rich yellow in the twilight. My mother turned up Tears for Fears or Christian rock of the late 90's and we danced to it. All of us.

Silly things like that. The things that matter most. I'm forgetting them and it terrifies me. How can I say these things and then announce, they're divorced now. Where is the line? What's appropriate and inappropriate and who gets to decide? How do I speak about my history when the present is divided? It would be easier to erase my roots versus go through the pain of replanting. Trees carry their memories in rings and each line is a circle of sorrow, of hallelujah. I daresay after grief, there will be no joy that does not carry with it a remembered sorrow.

'Cause you're shivering cold.

Once we watched August Rush past midnight with mom and dad. Chloe and I. We laid blankets on the floor and stayed up late. Eleven was late. I had to babysit the next morning. I don't know if I should stay up this late, I said to mom and dad. We understand, they said, but they encouraged me to watch anyways. It's not that late, they said. How many nights like this will we have, they said, and now looking back, my heart races. What if. But I watched. There was one sex scene and Chloe and I were just newly initiated into the reality of what that meant. We looked away, embarrassed watching with our parents two people make love. There were blankets, you couldn't see anything. Still. At eleven, dad said, hey, what if we order a pizza. Imagine that. These were the days before celiac disease, perhaps before Sam was born. We were carefree, because we didn't believe anything could touch us. Dad ordered pizza from Dominos, I think when Evan (August) listened to the music of the fields. Mom and Dad were happy, I remember, and I remember feeling so happy, I remember brimming until I feared I'd collapse. My whole body screamed in fear of keeping this moment good. We ate green olive and canadian bacon pizza on pink and blue plastic plates while watching August Rush. That was a good movie, mom said when it was over. She liked the music. Dad liked the story. She sat by dad. They went to bed together. I told Sheila the next morning that I had stayed up until one watching a movie with my parents. I remember this, listening to the soundtrack on my grandma's couch. My skin cracks anew. One sone in particular rips off my bandages without warning. If I close my eyes, I see the warmth of that night, the bubble that surrounded us amid darkness.

So long you've been running in circles
'Round what's at stake
But now the times come for your feet to stand still in one place
You wanna reach out
You wanna give in
Your head's wrapped around what's around the next bend
You wish you could find something warm

'Cause you're shivering cold

It's the first thing you see as you open your eyes
The last thing you say as your saying goodbye
Something inside you is crying and driving you on
It's the first thing you see as you open your eyes
The last thing you say as your saying goodbye
Something inside you is crying and driving you on