18 November 2014
yesterday afternoon, i sat down in front of one of those Hallmark channel original movies (don’t judge me). the plot: expected. but unexpectedly, laugh-out-loud funny. i looked over at your photo, perched in its prominent place on the credenza, and knew how much you would have loved watching it with me. i can’t tell you how i miss those moments. when i’m out and about, i spot something totally you. a cute, cozy hoodie. one of your favorite ice cream flavors at Snow Goose. the park in Bellevue where you generously walked Winnie, the adorable bull terrier, on our first cold, rainy mornings in Washington. surprisingly (or not, because i’m a sap), i get a little teary-eyed. on that childlike level, i imagined you’d always be here. for me. for all of us. but your little student has come to learn, you are.
oh yeah, i can see a single, disapproving raised eyebrow when i’m not quite on track. a nose wrinkle when there’s bluegrass on the radio or i serve some variation on a chocolate-chip cookie (because you just may have forgotten you’ve come to adore them). that crooked smile and knee-slap when you tell a joke that you know is completely hokey. a great blue flying by much lower than one might expect.
today, like every day, little bird, i remember you. and even though you’re not sitting on the couch right next to me, i’m never home alone. love you always. see ya on the flip side.