Did you ever start out, one foot in front of the other, and stop? Because you couldn’t take another breath?
Did you ever tear up while standing in line at Spec's because it reminded you of begging for Planter’s Old Fashioned Peanut Candy at Red Coleman’s, and your Dad agreeing to buy it for you, because that’s what he did? On a Saturday morning before his office Christmas party where women would arrive in fur stoles, and office gossip and the price of oil would be exchanged around a fondue pot in front of the fireplace?
Did you ever consume an entire 12 oz. bag of Ghiradelli semi-sweet chocolate chips, 40 years later, while trying to forget these things?
My daughter: the last time you saw her, she was two, on your lap, corkscrew curls, playing horsey and making Jell-o. Now: crop tops and tube tops, and no, you can’t wear that, and God, your voice is amazing. She is amazing.
My son: your namesake, your legacy. A builder, a creator, an emotional firestorm of physical energy. Craving for your existence and influence. Carrying on your proudest moments.
Your’re never more than a memory away, yet your absence is so haunting. You really should be here. To see the latest Lego creation he’s completed. Her latest performance. You’d be so proud. You are so proud.
I know you are with us, in everything we do.
Chin up, shoulders back.