One of Dan’s friends died last night. The sweetest snow is falling slowly and lightly to the ground under a blue sky. Timber is looking at me with sad eyes. Rob was seventy-three. I could hear tears in Dan’s voice as he told me he didn’t know the details. I love my husband. I yelled at my kids this morning. I yelled at Kalvin because he wanted me to go to his art class today. I think about all the kids lost in the Sri Lanka bombings, about the three siblings in particular. How is there snow when the sky is blue?  I wish I hadn’t yelled at Kalvin. I changed my physical therapy appointment and will surprise him at art class in an hour. I will bring hi chews, the sensationally chewy fruit candy. And caramels for Grace. 

I don’t understand life. 

There are more stars in the sky than there are grains of sand on all the beaches on earth. It rains diamonds on Jupiter and Saturn and sideways glass on a planet called Hd189733b. 

I know what Kalvin will be making in art class because I helped in Grace’s class a few days ago. He will be making a hermit crab, seaweed, and a starfish out of painted paper. Kalvin will cut out the sand first and glue it to paper. Then he’ll cut an oval for the hermit crab body. The eyes and claws will be cut from a different color. He’ll finish with seaweed and a starfish. He’ll remember to put his name and his teacher’s name on the back. 

Maybe we are never meant to make sense of life. No, I know this is true. We cannot make sense of it. We are simply meant to experience, express, and enjoy the tiny piece of Life that is ours to experience with the very limited perspective we have in the very minute amount of time we are given through one very limited set of human eyes, ears, thoughts and emotions. 

It takes a photon 170,000 years to make it from the core of the sun to the surface, and 8 minutes to go from the sun’s surface to our eyes. There is an exoplanet thirty-three light years away that is covered in burning ice. In space, tears stick to the face instead of falling.  

Grace will be happy to see me at school as well. Her face will light up, she will run to me, I will pick her up in a grateful hug, I will be forgiven. When I was yelling at them this morning, she looked at me and said, “Now you are just being mean.” I can’t get those words from my seven-year old daughter out of my head. Or the photo of Alfred, Agnes, and Astrid taken by Alma just days before they were blown up as they ate Easter breakfast at their hotel. Grace has already forgiven me. She blew me a kiss and waved as she ran into school, her twin brother and zebra back pack bouncing up and down behind her.

In the center of our galaxy is a dust cloud made of ethyl formate, the chemical which gives raspberries their flavor and smells like rum. I smile imagining sitting on a beach with the blue water and tan sand all around, drinking a raspberry rum mixed cocktail that tastes like the center of our galaxy.  

Timber is wagging her tail, she somehow knows its time to go. The snow is still falling. Rob is still dead. Alfred and Agnes and Alma are still dead. Astrid is alive. The sky is still blue as I leave for school to hug my kids, share sensationally chewy mango, raspberry and apple flavored candy, and watch Kalvin as he creates a hermit crab made of colorfully painted paper.