rebirth in west philadelphia...

yesterday evening, mike & i took our 15 month old son, harry & dog, penny on a walk through our neighborhood in west philly. this spring has been particularly beautiful & needed, after the seemingly endless & grueling winter. feeling trapped indoors with a baby at times made me feel like jack torrence, "all work & no play..." during this rebirth, trekking throughout the city with my precious little family is always such a blessing. to breathe in the blooming magnolia trees, newly planted annuals, & the stately sprouted bulbs. to admire the colorful houses, & the equally colorful families that inhabit them, who can now sit on their front porches with their sleepy but alert dogs, playful & barefoot children, & cool bottles of beer. we ended up at clark park, as we often do. it's a popular park in this section of the city, attracting the college kids that live nearby, passively studying & concentrating on tanning in the grass. the dog owners, who somehow know all canines' names but not the owners', congregate after work in the "dog bowl" & allow their beloved pets to run & sniff to their hearts' desire. the crusty punks with their long dreads & patchwork clothes, discreetly hiding their 40s in slender brown paper bags. the soccer, baseball, softball, frisbee, & football junkies carefully try to keep each game within the set parameters while determined to play through the unavoidable dog disruptions. the troops of parents that are dragged by their amped & anxious children to the playgrounds, hoping their energy will be appeased enough for a smooth bedtime. with spring comes the reappearance ice cream trucks, awakened from their long hibernation, along with the pretzel & water ice carts. on thursdays there's the amish farmer's market, & every few weeks people gather at the flea markets, where one man's junk truly can be another's perfect treasure, for the change left over from a small cherry water ice.

we arrived at clark park later than usual. harry had a late nap so most kids his age were probably getting ready for bed. but there was a good sized drum circle, whose reverberations echoed throughout the bowl. & the shirts team played the skins team in a small but rousing soccer game. i brought harry over to the empty swing set & set him in a middle dry one. i lifted his wiggly body high into the air, held it there as harry shrieked with delight at the impending drop, & darted out of the way as gravity helplessly flung him down. i thought about the first time mike & i put harry's fleshy form into a similar swing, nearly one year ago; how small he looked, just dangling in the black looking diaper. now when i try to take him out before he is ready, harry emphatically shakes his head at me & says "no!"

i let mike take over pushing duties while i sat at a nearby bench with penny, reveling in this luxury i haven't had in quite some time. i blissfully watched harry laugh as he "kicked" mike while in upswing. i followed two helmeted sisters as they practiced their biking skills on the safe, intertwining sidewalks of the park. i noticed a person in a striped hooded sweatshirt shuffling slowly along the edge of the square. although i couldn't see his face, i automatically pictured my brother scott. "hoodies" were a staple of his wardrobe, in any shape or color. for a while, one of scottie's favorites was an over sized, strangely patterned one he had purchased on 52nd street - a shopping mecca of the city that caters specifically to african american fashion. & although this person's gait wasn't exactly like my brothers, it was eerily close. scottie walked, & stood, always slightly slouched over. & it didn't matter if he wore baggy torn jeans with his bulky winter coat, his unique strut would push through his hefty outerwear. it was always a silent joy of mine to watch my dad & brothers walk next to each other. it was one of many genetic traits steve & scott got from our father.

i couldn't keep my eyes off this person, whom i had involuntarily morphed into my brother. i thought of the times we had spent at clark park, sitting in the grass & talking while he smoked cigarettes. or specifically the time penny got spooked by a firecracker & ran away in a complete panic. luckily she made it home, a mile away, unscathed, physically at least; it took a few months for her to feel comfortable there again. my brother had taken off after her but she was too quick. he diligently kept on her trail by asking anyone he could if they had seen a skittish yellow lab mutt with a pink collar.

i sat on the bench & sobbed. penny pressed her body up against my legs & looked at me. scottie was gone. i could hear harry's high pitched squeals. my thoughts turned to my last images of him, bloated & unconscious on the hospital bed. his eyes swelled shut. his skinny chest rising & falling with the hum of the machines. the mirage of scottie, with his striped hood up hiding his curly unruly hair, leisurely wandering down chester avenue, reminded me that for the rest of my life, young men resembling this description will remind me of my brother. all i have left are the memories that desperately i cling to, fearing that they will fade, meanwhile hoping that long dormant ones will surprisingly reemerge.

my weary heart hurt & my blue eyes stung as the sisters again pedaled passed me. i observed mike carefully take harry out of the swing, place him back into the stroller, & drift over to my bench. he hadn't noticed i was crying. & for some reason, i wasn't sure i wanted him to know. these surprising & unassuming times for me to mourn my brother can be solitary, but are eternally sacred. for a few blocks i held onto my grief before sharing it with my husband. he didn't need to say anything; he understood. he put his arm around me as we, our little family, continued west down baltimore avenue, towards the setting sun.