You made home in a town outside of hope. Prolonging winter in a place as cold as this year has been to you. The sun tried to rise but you asked it to wait just a little while longer. You can see the city from where you are- all the bright lights and bright hearts, somehow you don’t believe it so. It’s all a mirage. Memory or fallacy, it’s not where you live anymore. Still, you wonder- you wonder if you’ll ever hold light again. You wonder if there’s truth in the names you’ve been given. You wonder if you’re the smart one, the funny one, the pretty one…but as I watch you luminesce…I cant help but wonder if you’re the one
It’s dad. I don’t know when you’re reading this, where you are, or even who you are yet. I don’t know who your mother is, where we met, got married, or even if you have a mom at all, as, well, I’m adopted…so you may be too. There’s a lot that I don’t know, and I hope that as you read this my voice hasn’t changed, that even as your father, I’m still humble enough to tell you that there will always be things I don’t know.
However, I’m not writing to tell you about the things I don’t know. I’m writing to tell you about the things I do. Every day, till my last, I know that I want you. I know that I want you so much that even now, years before you arrive I’ve decided that nothing you ever say or do will change it. I want you even if things become broken. I need you to know that I want you, I love you, independently of your faults, your fears, and your mistakes.
I know mistakes. I’ve already made so many, caused pain, heartbreak, pushed my own mother and father away. I know mistakes so well because I also know forgiveness. I know that forgiveness is the way grace becomes most visible. Forgiveness isn’t a right, but a privilege and gift we get to share with others.
I know one thing we will have in common, I know from the beginning you will be little adventurers. I know you’ll be like your dad, learning to crawl and four days later learning to walk. I’ve spent my whole life praying God will keep you safe as he has kept me, but don’t ever make choices based on safety. Live, go, do, move, slow, and pause, because your heart won’t be happy till you do.
Maybe, your first word may be the same as mine, the genesis what I hope of a lifetime pointing to and calling out “light.”
I know you will be light, oh how I know you will be light. My little lightning bugs, you will be light to me even if I have my eyes closed.
Truthfully, the day you come will be my happiest. I wonder often what you’ll love- will I spend my evenings at a ballet recital or soccer match? Will I get to teach you to play the piano or throw a spiral? Maybe, you will teach me of why a lightning bug really glows, or how to dance the Charleston. Whether I teach you, or you teach me, I know we’ll always learn together.
I know that I will love you, I already do, my little adventurers.
You have my attention. So much that I didn’t buy you flowers that would, in time, wither away. With haste, I planted a garden. And as the earth lets the daisies bloom, you and I will too.
'lets meet for drinks tonight, in time for happy hour.' a cocktail sounded lovely.
but if that is happy hour, then what shall i call the morning?
you look perfect as the sun comes up, the first hour of daybreak is my happiest.
if i am first to arise, i don’t dare disturb you. always still, like a monument. your breathing, a commemoration of each day’s events we’ve partaken.
wake, my love…share the happiest hour with me.
Charlotte to O’Hare, blue line train to Washington. A black suit, maps on printer paper, a card filled with sympathies to a young woman in a little red plastic bag.
I told him the rehab center is inside the main hospital, it would be a nice walk along the river.
"I’ll probably take a taxi."
His eyes were kind and distressed. I haven’t felt the urgency i could sense in a while…I’m thankful for that.
the song in my headphones rang a prayer,
“I’m believing in a miracle
Trace emotion to the brink of pain
Let the world be cynical
Cross an ocean to begin again.”
I exited Clark/Lake and begged God she gets a chance to begin again.
A tree that’s lost limbs and leaves,
no autumn-like purpose,
no certainty of spring.
I hate watching you fall apart.