I know no other way to tell You of these flashbacks. On this day last year, to was Good Friday, but I really never saw the good in having a hysterectomy. I woke up crying. And ice chips. And my brother wearing plaid and walking toward the bed to hug me. He was so happy to see me awake. Then the next day which would be today. I am having flashbacks of the music playing in my ears. I am drifting. A knock. Two knocks. She comes in with the coloring book and the colored pencils I used today today to color more of the leaves in the book. The only difference? She isn’t here (on this planet, yes. In my life, no. I hate how the memories hit me gently like taps on the shoulder: hey, remember this song? And then I tell You I’m thinking of her again. And then I want to cry. And now, this song is playing, You know, Ellie Holcomb’s, He Will and ugh, more far away, but close up memories-the painted He Will in green on the paper and my pain in my heart of feeling stolen from when I originally wanted to share. This weird feeling I couldn’t share my heart, I couldn’t have more taken away. But music is meant for sharing. And she shared two books, two of her faves—one I’m still working through. There was the chaos of goodbye. When I read that in the book thief earlier, it really does describe my struggle with letting go. But this space has given me time to see I want to be a better communicator— a better listener, encourager. Not so, oh what about me? What about me, God? It doesn’t help anyone or me. I know You understand it. My ability to turn things to me when they should be on her. I know there is a time and place for me, but You are greater and You can put things back together better than ever. Seriously, I think You’re taking over my spotify with all these hope songs…)
Your tender haired girl
*( where timer stopped.