My brain has never been the kind to live by the calendar. Perhaps it was because of the kitchen table in my grandparents’ house in Minnesota. Around it, the dates remembered were of snowstorms and the dearly departed. Behind coffee cup and pipe, as they began to recall, I shook the numbers from my head, and ran into the open space and possibility of the front yard. 

And it’s not about denial. I remember every feeling of nearly every day. There are some though, with just a number, that won’t let you look away. Like today. And we shouldn’t forget. The horror. The courage. The fear. The coming together. The after. What did we do in the after? What are we doing today? 

That’s the thing. After the storm, they still gathered together at the kitchen table, as one. 

Today is Pascal’s birthday, my brother (in law and love). With the heaviness of this date still ringing in my head, this is the gift of hope, the gift of a swinging screen door and an open yard. A reminder that even in the most unlikeliness of time and place, we can find the good.

Happy Birthday, Pascal.