At least, I hope it is.
May 21, 2012
Today was Max's concert for Honor Band. He was, of course, everything that is perfect and brilliant about saxophone, and the phenomenal improvement seen in the beginning band over the last nine months can mostly be attributed to him. You know. Objectively speaking.
But at the beginning of the program, a trumpet ensemble played the Star Spangled Banner. When the audience realized what they were playing, everyone rose to their feet. The sound of them - of us - standing in an instant display of respect brought tears to my eyes.
And yes, it is a shade sentimental, to get weepy over our national anthem, and yes, patriotism is a concept that only gets more intense and complicated the older I get. But today was the first time in months that I have cried over anything other than my own pitiful self.
And I like to think that's progress.
Mass standings (anthem, bride, ovation) get me every time.
Posted by: Swistle | May 21, 2012 at 04:42 AM
There's nothing pitiful about a heartbroken mama...
One step at a time. That's all you can do.
Hugs
Posted by: KG | May 21, 2012 at 07:16 AM
Yay!!!! That is progress. Grief is it's own country, and the terrain and language are strange, but sounds like you are finding your way in a place you never wanted to visit.
I teared up too, but my favorite thing was showing Sophia how to put her hand over her wee heart, and watching her turn to see if her mamma was doing that too.
Posted by: Amma Always | May 21, 2012 at 07:26 AM
Be kind to you.
xoxoxoxo
Posted by: Carmen | May 21, 2012 at 04:08 PM
yes, progress!!! What a happy report - and the way cool sax enthusiasm only adds to the joy!
Posted by: MitMoi | May 21, 2012 at 07:15 PM
I need a like button, like this post, like these comments... =)
Posted by: Rachel | May 22, 2012 at 08:31 AM
I couldn't agree more with the idea of grief as it's own country. It's like packing to go on a Carribbean vacation and waking up in Sweden. You aren't in the right place, feel very out of sorts and need time to adjust.
Adjusting takes time. And don't harsh on yourself (I sound like my 10 year olds!) for crying about your own stuff. Your own stuff is hard.
Posted by: Michelle | May 22, 2012 at 08:16 PM