I hope you’re happy. That your life is filled with sunshine and warm moments, that you are surrounded with people who love you, and you love back.
I hope that the man that you’ve married is patient and gentle, and a wonderful father to your children.
That you feel fulfilled in your job, and church life.
But more importantly I hope you love yourself and all of the quirks that come with you.
That you still listen to Beethoven and type stories out as if you are playing a masterpiece on the piano.
That you still read the last page of every book you buy because you can’t wait to find out the end.
I hope you have traveled and seen the things you dreamed about, the Great Wall of China, Italy, Iceland.
Do you remember everything? The things that made you who you are today? Please tell me you haven’t forgotten.
The times you and mom took two hours in Kroger talking, and only went in for milk.
When you went on long walks and daydreamed about what you could do with you life, and then realize the sun had long past set.
Please tell me you still have your sense of humor, and spread the laughter throughout your family.
I pray you love who you have become, and are proud of what you have accomplished.
You see its not important if you did everything you thought you would, or your life is what you had planned.
What is important is that who you are today makes you happy. That you go to sleep content, and that you remember it isn’t always about what you expect but how you get there, and all of the possibilities life has to offer.
The living room smelled like wood shavings. I felt a prickle in my foot, as the wooden shards clung to my bare feet. The scent changes, Chex-Mix and lemon. She’s singing in the kitchen, mopping the floor as the cereal and peanut combination cools. He’s sitting on the living room floor, carving. His beard full of chunks of his favorite medium. It always amazed me. How a piece of wood could become something incredible. I watch as his hands move, fluidly, knowing where to go, without thought. The tools in his hands are part of him, biting chunks out. He doesn’t notice as his thumb bleeds, staining the wood. Wordlessly he works, and its comforting.
I’m busy and I prefer it that way. I like making lists and completing them, setting goals and reaching them, only to make more lists and goals. I’m young and busy. I don’t get to talk to my parents as often as I’d like. My mom and I are close and talk and spill our guts In marathon conversations. But she knows who I am, and has always been my number one fan. She walks around with her Alli foam finger on and i’m grateful. Talking to her has always been easy.
I’ve been running around all week again. In and out. I feel like a cartoon with the dust cloud billowing behind me. I sit cross legged on the couch and read. Mom talks about work, and church. I listen and laugh, it’s easy. He sits in his chair playing on his computer. I look out the window to my shiny clean car. He doesn’t say anything and neither do I.
It’s Valentines Day and my boyfriend spoils me rotten. The next day there they are, unexpected, 3 dozen strawberries, hand dipped in chocolate. Not from a store. Made one by one over our stove. He made them for me.
We are different than me and Mom. But so much the same. It took me years to figure that out. I didn’t notice that even though his words were absent his heart never was. He loves differently than mom. I know that now. It’s in the hours he spent dipping strawberries, when my car is clean and I didn’t ask. Its in the gold heart necklace he gave me when I never said a word.
My dad has long since shaved his beard. His carving tools have been put away for years. But when I close my eyes I smell the wood shavings.