photo by Doug Maloney / Unsplash.com
Dear kiddo,
You throw your bottle on the ground in the church
Everybody laughs
But it makes me want to cry
You don’t understand
You aren’t old enough yet
You will never get to know her
Never hear her laugh
Have memories of her
Other than the vague foggy ones of a child
Imprints of a sick woman in a wheelchair
When you are old enough to understand
I know you will hurt
To hear the stories of you throwing the bottle
Breaking everyone from their tears
But we needed that comic relief, trust me.
I will tell you stories of her
Your father will tell you some too
Stories from when he was young
But I have some of the best memories of her
Memories you would have bad
If you only had time.
Time
The thing you were robbed of
She wanted to see you grow up so badly
And she’s still watching;
But you didn’t know her well enough
To know her essence
To know when she’s with you
Instead, It will be something you grow up with
And we will try to tell you
That those sensations
The smell of cookies
The colorful fabrics you see in the corner of your eye
The melodies sung rather badly in your ear
That you think you came up with
Those are hers. She’s watching, kiddo
And she loves you. I promise.