A Rock Within A Rock

We returned from Paris late last night. This morning, I went to sit at Eli’s grave. When I arrived, there was the familiar smell of overgrown weeds. I sat down and scrolled through pictures on my phone from our 2018 trip to Paris together. I thought of the different experiences of the two trips: the first, just the two of us; now, we were a group of ten. Back then, we sought out quiet corners and avoided the crowds; now, I led the family through the city’s most popular attractions.

On one of our first walks, down a quiet Parisian lane, I passed the jazz bar Eli and I had stumbled upon one evening. I was surprised by how quickly the place felt familiar again. Smiling, I pointed out the hidden spot to the children.

When it was time to leave the cemetery, I chose a rock beside Eli’s grave to bring home—a small one covered in white dust. Climbing the stairs, I noticed another stone, this one embedded with fragments of different colors. I couldn’t decide which to take—my original choice, or this one, a rock made up of smaller stones within it. In the end, I chose to keep them both: one for my night table, and one for my desk at my new studio.

As I hiked up the hill to the bus stop, I overheard a couple speaking French—a welcome echo of Paris, here at home. A gentle reminder that life is good when it can hold a mix of blessings.

Happy belated birthday, Eli.