It's as much a part of me as breathing, this friendship she and I have woven together. In and out, up and down, encircling us. Never ceasing. Never slowing. None of the breaks, skips, or hiccups that usually occur in relationships. Not a one. We came together so seamlessly I don't remember what my life, my days, my moments felt like without her beside me, even in a figurative sense. I know it sounds odd, the stuff of science fiction movies and creepy music, but our relationship has been like that from the beginning. I wake up when something happens to her or when she dreams and cannot bring herself out of it. She knows when I've hit my bottom and swoops in to scoop me up. Even our night times overlap. That silly red sports car she drives in the non-waking hours? It shows up for both of us. I tell her geniuses choose green and she laughs. I am thankful to hear it so strong, so clear. Her laughter is the mix of all things beautiful; soft undertone...
Today I took the time to gently lift her into my arms and sway around the kitchen. Laying aside all of the I have to's and instead looking her in the eyes and noticing the lonely. Wondering if my eyes look the same I stopped cleaning up dinner and unloading the dishwasher and pulling out the vitamin regiment for the 'morrow. I started listening to the quiet of her heart. The place that was calling out for more of me in the regular moments. Scrolling through the music on the phone, I found her song. The one I've sang to her since her NICU days. Choosing it carefully, pushing play, watching the wonder in her eyes. She did not realize it was on our devices. Wonder replacing lonely My little is still small enough to fit on my hip, even at seven. I tell her it's God's gift to me, being able to tote her when she gets tired or hurt or just plain lonely . Growing up isn't easy. Neither is being grown up. Knowing this, I hold her tighter and we glide aroun...
Before Sara died, she asked me to speak at her wake. She didn't desire that I share with others memories of her. Rather, she asked that I speak about who she was in this world. She told me that she wanted people who came to see her as I spoke. She also told me I wasn't allowed to cry. It would, she stated, "Make things less effective." Love her. A friend who was present asked that I ( Shannon ) put it up for all of you, who were unable to join us at the service, to read. . . . . . . . Gail Caldwell wrote: "It's an old, old story. I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that too." Words are powerful. Uniting. They shape our view of the world, ourselves, each other. Words, in the best cases, make us immortal. Words are how I found her. Faith is what brought us together. A friend send me an email, asking me to pray for a mother wh...
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