Two days ago, you marked off yet another anniversary (37), eating at Kim Moon (not Daddy's favorite dish, but rather sushi, which he would have kidded you about), and then listening to a special young lady speak delightfully about her adventures in Haiti as a teacher to missionary children. Living together as Pastor and Pastor's Wife, you and Daddy spent countless hours side by side, snatching these quiet moments at favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants or coffee shops between the whirlwind business of pastoring.
This morning, I tip-toed out of the house to the deck to breathe in some fresh air and while I drank in life from Scripture, I watched the birds and enjoyed my few flowers that I've miraculously kept alive since Memorial Day weekend. And then I checked my cell phone clock and realized a had a few minutes to soak in some poetry before my to-do list begins clamoring for my attention and the children wake, waiting to be loved on, read to, played with, taken to therapy and the library and a spina bifida family get-together. (Must remember to make those Oreo truffles...)
The book I cracked open this morning is Elizabeth Hun Schmidt's The Poets Laureate Anthology, and the very second poem I read, though "short and sweet," is one I want to share with you, Mama. This is it, isn't it? How life changes? How the journey is now? The poet said, too, that "poetry is about what can't be said," and yes, this is what is hard to explain to those who think everything is over after a year:
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.