All That Heaven Will Allow

March 4th is a pretty shitty day in the historical data of the Fazzolari family.  Up until 3 years ago, it was just March 4th - - - no strings attached.  Now?  A pretty shitty day.  I can recall in detail the phone call that my mother made to me on  March 4th, 2009, and I can recall falling to my knees, attempting to hold the break in my heart together by crying and denying; and failing, suffering and acknowledging the fact that I never could have imagined such emotional pain.  I've described Jeff's death as something that changed the volume of my soul, because when he died, a piece of it went with him up to heaven.

Yesterday was a busy day.  The kids and I awoke early and found a web program that would allow them to create themselves as a Pokemon character.  I have no idea what Pokemon is and why the cards are an obsession, but as Tony stood next to me with one hand on my shoulder as I typed in his "power" for agility and resistance, I didn't care.  We picked his powers, we found a picture of his face from earlier in the year, and we created a card.  He was overjoyed, and when he hugged me and thanked me with all his heart, I knew that heaven had allowed the moment.

Following our productive morning, we went to karate, where Paige performed a fourteen step routine, fought off a kid that was about a foot taller, and watched as she earned a higher belt.  The smile on her face, the pride in my heart, and the offer of congratulations to her from her little brother were just events of another allowance.

To celebrate, and because it was lunch time, we went to Friendly's.  As we sat there, we drew funny faces on a pad of paper - - - with crossed eyes, big nostrils, enormous ears and wayward hair - - -, I heard the notes of a Springsteen song playing softly on the speakers above.  Like a dog, I cocked my head so that I could name the tune.

"Rain and storm and dark skies, well now they don't mean a thing if you got a girl that loves you,  and who wants to wear your ring.  So c'mon mister trouble, we'll make it through you somehow. We'll fill this house with all the love, all that heaven will allow."

The song surprised me so much, because it is not one that is ordinarily played in a public place.  I stopped what I was doing with the kids, and listened.  Tears formed in my eyes, and Tony, noticing said, "Are you gonna cry, Mommy?"  I smiled and said, "Yeah, probably."  I told him that it was three years since Uncle Jeff died, and then I mentioned the song and sang a few of the lines.

"So you think Uncle Jeff put this song on for you?"  Paige asked, eager for me to say yes.

I answered honestly that I didn't know.

I don't know if Jeff has that power.  I don't know if some kid who was cooking in the back at Friendly's put together a mellow mix with all of his favorite artists in order to avoid the piped in Barry Manilow and Neil Diamond songs that often roll through the restaurant;  I didn't know if us deciding to go to Friendly's at the last minute was part of some greater tapestry; and I didn't know if Springsteen wrote that song for that precise moment. I didn't know anything.

What I do know is that for the remainder of the day, I recognized the awesome moments - - - when I went to coach our final basketball game, and all the kids on my team ran toward me with high fives, and big smiles; when I handed out their trophies and recognized each of their unique talents that made our team a success;  when the parents of these children thanked me, and one in particular said, "My son is going to really miss you.  He talks about basketball every day, and about you all the time.  You were amazing with him, and I thank you"; when I found Paige and Tony, head-to-toe covered in mud with a bucket of worms that they had dug up; when I tasted the macaroni salad that Paige had been begging me to make for the last two weeks and nearly swooned because it tasted so good; when I frosted the cake for Enzo's birthday (the little bastard turned two yesterday) and after singing to him, watched as he gobbled it in one bite; when, after the kids had bathed and showered and we sat together on the chair, I could smell the shampoo on their wet hair, and as I breathed it in, I found comfort.

By recognizing these moments, I found that though a piece of my soul was hurled up there with Jeff, there was also a remainder of it down here.  And because of that, I could feel all that heaven will allow.

Today is sad.  Today is the anniversary of a pretty shitty day. 

Yet, I will recognize the offerings of love I've been afforded, and I will celebrate that I am still able to see them.  I will celebrate that Jeff was and still is a great joy in my life.

I miss him every day, yet I know that one day, when heaven allows it, my soul will re-align and become whole again.