Years ago, a photographer friend of mine, Maggie Knaus, had an exhibition that she entitled “Nearby.” In it, she featured pictures she had taken when her brother-in-law had been nearby. He had passed away, but the images remained, beautiful and poignant.
I think about that exhibition a lot: the beauty; the sadness; the sense that noticing who is nearby, who is not quite in the picture, is powerful and important. Because of it, I find myself thinking about who is nearby as I go about my day.
Right now, for example, my spouse and his buddies are playing a board game in the next room. The game will last most of the afternoon, their laughter and chatter an accompaniment to my writing and planning. Dice rattle; pieces plunk onto the board. I love the easy camaraderie of these men, the way they gather often, using games to deepen their friendships. They laugh again, and here, mere metres away, I smile.
Mr. 15 is in his third-floor hideaway. The “chill room” was meant to be a shared space, but his bedroom is tiny, so he has spilled into this space, too: computer, books, beanbag – and all the detritus that trails behind teenage boys. When he is home, he is up there. Moments ago, we crossed paths in the kitchen as he cut two thick slabs of fresh bread, slathered them with butter and popped them into the toaster “to melt the butter just enough.” I silently marvelled at his tall and slender form, at his long torso stretching up from pajama bottoms knotted low around his hips. What a miracle, to watch my child become a man. I hug him when I can and keep my comments to a minimum. Now, he is hidden again: only his voice trails down the stairs, a murmured reminder that he is nearby.
Mr. 13 is in the room with me, but a bookcase and a bamboo screen separate us. He is nearly silent now. Only the click of the keyboard and the occasional slide of the chair across the floor let me know he is nearby. Soon enough, he will finish this task and join his friends online. At some point, his excited voice will rise up to fill this room, and I will say, “Seriously! Can you please tone it down?” and he will – for 30 seconds or a minute – until the game and the friends fill his brain again and his voice surges again.
In the kitchen, one cat sleeps in her perch near the sliding glass door. In the basement, the other cat sleeps in the box of giveaway coats that she has adopted as her own. And here on the couch, the dog has curled up next to me as I write.
In this mundane moment, I pause to recognize just how much love is near me, just how lucky I am.
Persistence and Pedagogy 
I could have written your Mr. 13 section word for word. They get so loud, don’t they???!
This is a great reminder that I am surrounded by so much love even if we’re not all interacting all the time. Love this.
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I try to remind myself that, at 13, he is also very funny & only just starting to be self-conscious. This won’t last long. (But oh how I long for quieter voices.)
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A great reminder on a Sunday, to remember what you have, what you love, and who is around you. I like how it feels like you are almost a ‘fly on the wall’ feel here; just observing without judgement.
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That’s what I was going for – just observing! Thanks for noticing.
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Amanda,
This is such a gorgeous post. I have few images of my father who died when I was 16, so the idea of creating an art installation honoring a loved one who has passed on tugs at my heart. Each moment in your post has me thinking about those I love and what they’re doing. It’s hard when the children are out of the nest. It was especially difficult when my children were in the military. Now I wonder about my grandson. I love your Mr. 15 moments and the way you honor him as he grows into young adulthood. Does he know how much respect you give him? Love the photos and seeing those gents around the table, and of course I’m here for the fur babies, too.
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Mr. 15 thinks I am too nosy & too annoying. (Ok, but seriously, for the most part we get along.) I’m not even close to ready to have my children leave home. I suspect I won’t be ready even when it happens. Meanwhile, I’m betting your brother is downstairs in the semi-dark, not changing lightbulbs.
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My brother and I had the same”clean the basement” talk we’ve had repeatedly. He crossed his arms, started looking at the paper, then ventured out to Walmart in the current blizzard. For perspective, he’s not 15. He’s 56. *Life is Good* 😊
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I feel like I have watched your boys grow up. 13 and 15! Teens! I remember having the silent one who retreated to her own space and the one who always stayed near. It’s hard to believe how time changes and doesn’t change things. I am still surrounded by the love of my family and we have grown to include sons and grandchildren. The thought of it all can be overwhelming.
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One of the most amazing things about blogging in a community is watching other people’s lives from afar. I feel the same way about your grandchildren – weren’t you just waiting, excitedly, for your first grandchild to be born? Weren’t they just babies? Time is funny that way, isn’t it? Still, I love watching all these amazing beings grow, all around me. May we all be overwhelmed with love.
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Many years ago I took a scrapbooking workshop. It was the ’90’s and we were all cutting our photos into cute shapes before gluing them into the books. The presenter told us to be careful about what we cut out of the picture because sometimes the stuff in the background gives us context that we will forget over time. I’ve never forgotten that! I love how your slice gives the context in which you are writing, probably most of the time! Right now I have the Barbie movie going and my children are occasionally arguing because one wants to sing along and the other wants to watch in peace. 🙂
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Yes! The context. Thinking about who’s nearby is kind of like the context of my life, the things that just happen without me really thinking about them. Once, long ago, I took a picture every hour (at, like, 23 minutes past the hour or something) and posted it on FB. I still love looking back on that day & the random reality of our life. Note to future self: leave the background in.
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Such beauty here. You have me thinking about how quiet things are with just 2 of us this weekend.
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Well, I enjoy a post like this because it makes the ordinary seem elevated or honored. I’ve been reading Covenant of Water (actually, I’m listening to it on my frequent lengthy car rides these days). One of the characters writes a column of “unfictions” that he signs “An Ordinary Man.” He has that same sense that there are profound things to find in the everyday. That’s what this feels like.
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Oh this is a good slice idea to tuck away for the days when writing is hard. I’m already thinking about what I could write right now…about the nearby. I think your catalyst for this post is powerful. Here’s to noticing the nearby. Thanks for the inspiration.
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A wonderful idea for photography (my passion) and writing. Reading your story left me with a sense of calm from the ordinary. 🙂
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Thanks for bringing us inside and letting us have a look around, see what everyone’s up to. A genuinely refreshing way to share the intimate aspects of family life without crossing anyone’s boundaries. I made it back here thanks to Jessica’s post today!
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Such a calm and full post, so cleverly portraying all that love around you with so many nuances and other moments, held so briefly.
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