Today, February 1, is Cassie’s birthday. We wish, more than anything, that she were with us to celebrate. While she never made a big deal of her own birthday, she always like to remember others’ and wish them well. The main thing she cared about on her birthday was eating delicious food.
So to honor her today we had a brunch with a few friends, featuring some of her favorites. Cassie despised eggs and never ate them, unless they were baked in something. The national egg shortage would probably amuse her. So, we had an egg-less brunch. Some of her brunch favorites were biscuits and gravy, avocado toast, tofu scramble, bacon, roasted potatoes, grits, breakfast sausage.
While we ate and hung out and remembered her, we listened to the music from Time Out of Mind. If you’re on Spotify, you can listen to the songs she included in these posts over the years, generously compiled by our friend Geetha. We placed fresh flowers on the altar and sat out in the sunshine.
We also planted in our backyard the cypress tree that was blessed by the mourners at her memorial. The tree spent last week inside our house to avoid the historic snow storm and freeze, and now its needles, which had stayed green into the winter, have turned the usual crispy brown that cypress trees have this time of year. It feels good to have an outdoor place to honor her memory.
Lastly, I’m sharing a story from our friend, Hope, who sent me this lovely story from Cassie’s memorial. It seems like a fitting way to remember her on her birthday.
Love all a y’all through space and time,
David
David,
I wanted to share a profound moment that happened during Cassie's memorial. It was on the sidelines where, unsurprisingly, another woman and I had settled so we could listen and keep our active little fellas somewhat quiet so everyone else could listen, too.
The fountain we stood by had parts that moved and provided some mostly quiet entertainment. Eventually, a monarch butterfly landed on the arm of the smallest boy and the other two, Wyler one of them, gathered around with that particular kind of awe these fragile beautiful things inspire. The butterfly moved back and forth between each of their cupped hands. Finally, the other older boy says, "I need to set it free." And Wyler moved his hand over to let the butterfly disembark. The other older boy pauses before he turns away, to take it wherever he thought it would be most free, and says, "Do you want to say goodbye?" The butterfly seemingly followed his words and moves back to Wyler before settling back into the other boy's cupped palm.
As he walks away with this butterfly that would later continue to fly over all of us in this garden, I realized who he was and his mother, who had caught my gaze between the whispered conversations of the boys. Cassie had connected us shortly after Wyler and Theo were born days apart, maybe even rooms apart. These friends had just adopted Theo and were looking for breast milk. I had plenty and drove weekly to drop off bags at their door in Mid-City.
We are deeply connected by Cassie and her profound acts of mothering and caring. To meet again over butterflies and tender boys and loss in the garden yesterday seemed like such a Cassie thing.
Sending love.
-Hope