I was lying in bed the other night and had just drifted off to sleep when I hear Mike calling frantically "Sarah! Sarah! Look! Look!" My heart jolts so much that I fear, for a split second, that it had exploded.
"What is it?" I pop my eyes open and bolt upright in bed to see Mike pulling back the curtains looking outside. I still don't know what he is looking at. It could be anything from the Northern Lights to a tornado. I know it couldn't be a burglary or the neighbor's house on fire. If that were the case then he would have just run out the door and yelled over his shoulder for me to call 911.
With my heart still beating in my throat, I get up out of bed and join him by the window. As soon as I look out I see it. A large meteor was falling from the sky leaving a huge bright orange gash across the dark night sky. It was breathtakingly beautiful. One of those rare natural occurrences that leaves you feeling so much awe you momentarily forget yourself and the world.
But like many awesome things it was also kind of terrifying at the same time. The color of its tail was so thick and brilliant that I couldn't see the stars and even the red light flashing on the cell tower was barely perceptible. All that dark not only exaggerated the beauty of what I was seeing, but it also helped open a small hole in the pit of my stomach that filled up with dread.
I had been watching Crash Course Big History videos earlier that evening and I couldn't stop myself from thinking thoughts of death and extinction. Thankfully, I have gotten pretty good at remaining stoic while waiting for my senses to return, which they did rather quickly. I was able to watch the meteor fizzle out like a colored 4th of July sparkler just above the horizon line.
Mike and I continued looking out the window, both remarking on how rare and beautiful the sight had been. Returning to our respective places in bed, we fell asleep with smiles on our faces and a swelling in our hearts.
If only I could say I had continued sleeping through the night and awoke satisfied with the sleep I had gotten. Unfortunately, Precious, our one year-old decided she was having a nightmare. I woke up to her screaming and went to her in the steamy little room across the hall. She stopped crying the moment I picked her up, but I knew she would only start again if I attempted to put her down. So I carried her back to our room, though I should have kept her where she was so the humidifier could have a chance to work its magic on her congestion, but at 3:30am I am nothing if not selfish.
Back in my pillows Precious snuggles next to me with one hand exploring my face. Not really sure why, maybe sticking her fingers up my nose and pinching my lips reassures her that I am me. This pointy fingered examination of my face made falling back to sleep a bit more difficult. My mind wandered back to the meteor but instead of remembering the beauty I saw and the uplifting feelings it left me with, my mind took a turn for the morbid.
I actually thought of Pompeii and the people they unearthed who had died during that great eruption. How they were destroyed and remarkably preserved. I wondered, if that meteor had hit and had the same effect on us as the volcano did at Pompeii (it wouldn't, but its 3:30am; humor me) what would the future archeologists of the world find in our home. A man and woman laying near each other and a baby holding onto the face of the woman. Two small children laying at odd angles but next to each other near by, but what else would they find. The piano in the front room? Maybe, but I doubt they would guess it had been my grandparents and served as an instrument of memory as well as one of music. The family photos or treasured artworks? Even less likely. The shelves of books scattered in different places in the home? Maybe in the basement in which case they will find a lot of college textbooks we couldn't bring ourselves to sell for one reason or another. They would probably be able to identify the kitchen, but I doubt they would be able to tell just from looking how much was shared, learned, and taught in that little room. They would find the cars but have no way of knowing the family memories those vehicles facilitated. There would be so little left to tell them who those kids were, who those parents were, what they felt and loved. Thinking of all this was pretty sad and depressing, but not really. I have a powerful belief that has shaped my view of the universe; the continuation of the spirit and mind. That life and love not only go on after death but both continue to progress and grow. So even if that meteor had hit and our home were to be destroyed, all that our home had meant would continue to "be" and in a far more significant way then the artifacts at Pompeii.
