Dearest

You are everything I could ever hope to be. And I wish I would have could have told you that. There was something so deep and dark and scary going on for those years and I was so afraid. Whatever tie I had to you was so easily drawn away and life was so intensely complicated. I felt like I was living my life incorrectly and that if you knew who I was, you would be disappointed. Now that I’m older, I know that isn’t true. And I know that you tried. But the heaviness of that life lingers. And some days, it’s too much.
 
It is an anchor in my heart.

I took on the burden of everyone. You and us and them. Everyone that left and everyone that never reached out. I took it as my own and held it and tried to keep it quiet. I was deeply and wildly lonely for you.

In my brightest and happiest dreams, I think that you can see me and that I make you proud. I hope that I shine like a jewel in your eye and all is right and well. Every time my hands create something out of nothing, I think that I’m honoring you. That’s why I keep a picture of you in my kitchen.  I look at that image of us and I think, ‘This is what she would have done.’

And I know it’s true because it always works. Just like you always worked. Never sitting, always fretting. The smell of the kitchen and clean laundry and starch and your soap. I can picture your hands, slightly knotted, feverishly working away to feed your family. This is what love looks like to me.

There is a piece of you that I hold that very few know. All those nights spent, feeling the safest and most content I have ever felt. Those moments settle in my heart and slow my world down for those few minutes before I fall asleep. And sometimes, I feel you there.

You are my deepest love.

My greatest hope.

And my dearest memory.