i pull up my laptop onto the desk and fold my legs underneath me. life has gotten busy, with an unexpected increase in work. it’s good… keeps me engaged and interested. i struggle to breathe, as my screen comes alive. this cold has decidedly taken over half my face. i miss having both sides of my face. i miss breathing normally. dratted cold.
my email starts beeping in, a litany of reminders and asks. i reach for my mug and realize it still has the bitter dregs from yesterday’s tea. i push it away, faintly hoping that a magic pixie will clean it for me. and bring me a hot cup of tea as well.
a girl can dream, right?
i dream, still, of having you here, umma. it’s been nine years. nine. i still remember vividly all that unfolded in those days preceding and proceeding today. then, it felt like a bad tv show, one i couldn’t turn off. as if every channel was playing the same show.
it’s become easier over the years to chase those memories and tears with celebration. celebrating all the beautiful things that you were, to me and to those around you.
i still dream about what your words to me would be, one mother to another. one mother to a daughter. i dream about the words and stories that you would have shared with my children. i dream about those eyes. those crinkly eyes, dancing with the security of knowing that her life is secured and anchored in His grace. eyes that dance with love for her family by extension.
i dream about sitting on a stool in the kitchen, watching your hands transform humble ingredients into chopsticks-scrape-the-plate good meals. the conversations over a busy stove.
i miss you. my children… i wish you could have met them. i trust that you’re watching over them from your heavenly perch. love, miss, and celebrate you.