Story: The Living, Itself
Maria was not one to form too many specific expectations. She was a planner, to be sure, but a flexible one (even if some might argue that point).
Still, as her sixtieth birthday approached, even she had to admit it wasn’t shaping up to look anything like what she might have imagined.
This was not to say she was disappointed.
In fact, in certain ways, her sixth decade was beginning at a time of unique (if also frightening and grief-tinged)...promise. The challenges of the day had also brought much clarification, along with some hope for tomorrow.
She sat in the kitchen with her coffee, the dog her only company for now, and she mused upon the coming occasion.
Maria hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning a few times in the pre-dawn light, before eventually giving up and getting out of bed early. It was not common for her to be up before Norman, but it wasn’t unprecedented either.
And after all the years of raising the girls, all the events and the traveling (locally, regionally, internationally), it was nice to sometimes have a quiet moment, mostly to herself.
The girls weren’t home, as was common now. So she was glad to have the dog there. Maria would almost always take the company of a dog, over spending time wholly alone.
Rather than eliminate it, in her experience, a dog elevated solitude. Especially in the early morning, a dog gave you the quiet and the stillness of time to yourself, without the isolation. Dogs supported her, fed her love just by their presence. They were a gift, which she cherished, one she had shared with and passed down to her daughters.
She gazed out the window, at the piling snow. There had already been plenty on the ground before this current mild storm. It fell gently now, in big, soft, floating flakes.
It wasn’t the easiest time for a birthday, late February. Winter often made its last stand during the final weeks of the short month. There was a beauty to this, though, despite the challenges.
Under normal circumstances, a long cold snap could divert any planned celebration down one of two paths. Friends and family either would jump at the chance to convene, if not solely to celebrate her or some other loved one, at least also to break the monotony and combat the long chill of winter – or, they’d buckle, under these same conditions, intending to get together but some or many of them failing in their best intentions, and choosing to stay home instead.
This year was of course different.
It was not safe to celebrate in the normal ways. It would be at least several more months until such a possibility might return.
She had accepted this, even if her general worrying about the virus understandably persisted.
It was odd, hardly caring about such a touchstone birthday. But the trying year behind her had recontextualized so much. And so, as she stood alone in the kitchen, and tousled the dog’s head, and topped off her coffee, Maria felt a rush of gratitude.
Her family was safe, not just the girls and her husband but her parents, brothers, in-laws. They had the house, and their health, and food to eat and the ability to continue forward with much of their life as it had been. This didn’t exclude her from the sadness of the overall circumstances, or the yearning to get back into society, but it was heartening, in its own way.
She turned in the direction of a soft noise from behind her.
Norman appeared in the kitchen. He kissed her, and poured himself some coffee.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
He paused and smiled, and surprised her, by playing it straight (for now) and letting pass the opportunity to tease her about the landmark birthday.
“Big day is almost here.”
“Yup.”
But all the days felt big, lately.
They chatted and began settling into the day. Yet the sense of stillness, and the feeling of gratitude – they persisted in Maria.
What everyone might do to celebrate her birthday, during this challenging time, she wasn’t entirely sure. She didn’t really care.
The true gift was the living, itself.
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This story was commissioned by Lynn and Mike, for Maria. It was written by Michael DiBiasio-Ornelas, via Last Site Press. To order your own Custom Short Story, click here.