Recognition

"Mercy's eyes are blue
When she places them in front of you
Nothing really holds a candle to
The solemn warmth you feel inside of you..." -The Shins

When you look into his eyes now, you know, right into them and as he's looking back at you, he doesn't see you there. The glimmer of recognition... that one moment where the eyes light up when someone you love sees your face... it's a moment that is taken almost completely for granted. Until, maybe, someone you love doesn't recognize your face.

Recognition isn't generally appreciated the way it deserves. It's a tiny relief that washes over you more quickly than you can even feel. When you see your home. When through the crowd that's parted stands the person you love. When your best friend looks up as you walk through the door of the restaurant. The smile before the hugs at baggage claim. The way we light up when we see our friends. Our families. And when they see us.

Now, in my grandfather's eyes, there is only the reflection of the world outside of him. His eyes are shining blue pools. Only the light reflecting back. When you look into them, he isn't looking at you too. And so he never recognizes. There is no lighting up, just a damp gaze into the space between us. He will never again see us and smile.

Particularly heart breaking is the way that he wants so badly to see. He stretches, and smiles, as though if he tries just hard enough he'll be able to look over the head of his blindness. Into the trees and gardens and flowers that he has loved all his life. He hears our voices, and my grandmother, holding his arm, will say, "That's Jennifer, Parks." And he smiles then. He remembers recognition. He remembers my face and what it means to see me. He smiles then as though he knows what I look like and says, "there's my beautiful girl." And he means that with all of his heart. And he looks in my direction but just past me, into the darkness, or grayness, or shapely blobs that fill his eyes instead of us, and he smiles wider. Bravely. And I light up, and remember what it meant for him to see me.

There will be a day, maybe soon, when I won't be able to see his face anymore, and light up the way that I used to. He will be gone, and with him will be the love and the sadness, and the respect and dignity that came with losing his eyes. And his freedom. And his gardens and home. And eventually us. All of us. And the way that we used to be.

Perhaps the mercy is in the memories, and in being able to see even without our eyes. And being able to cry, or laugh, just based on a moment that you recognize from a time gone by. A moment you can see, if only in your mind's eye.