If I could leave flowers at your feet right now, I would.
I wish I could’ve talked to you more about death
and how it felt to stare her in the eyes while those around you avoided eye contact.
I wish I was drinking Bustelo right now.
I wish I was in PR.
I wish I took more photos.
I remember being in such a good mood that day at Collumcile and attempting a cartwheel.
I remember experiencing Bliss.
And God whispering in my ear in that moment, mid-flight.
I remember falling on the floor–hard; crying because of the Grace I had just experienced.
I remember you thinking I was crying because I got hurt.
When really it was because I had met God.
I remember the song Heaven is Here instantly playing in my head after that; and then me running to play it in the car on the ride home.
I remember telling you I was moving across the country.
And you always telling me I was too far.
Anywhere that wasn’t next to you was always too far.
You were so smart. You were so proud when I got honors in chemistry.
“My granddaughter’s a chemist like her grandmother!”, you would exclaim.
Sorry I failed when I changed schools. I take no credit for that.
I hope you come to me in my dreams during your wandering days.
It’s moments like these that really make me wonder what happens after death.
I could spend the rest of my life studying the scriptures, like I have been, and I still won’t ever come to a conclusion.
I wondered if you visited me when I slept last night. But I couldn’t remember.
I remember a dream I had once; we were on the van on our way to PA when a Native American man kept telling you, “you must remember, you are Cherokee” while you kept telling him you weren’t. It wasn’t until years later I really learned of our native roots. And we’re still not Cherokee.
I used to hate when you’d scream my name in supermarkets when you didn’t see me standing right behind you.
You hated cursing but sometimes shit would slip through your teeth.
You would buy me anything I wanted.
You bought me my first acoustic guitar;
my first electric guitar;
my first laptop;
my first DSLR;
my video camera and a wireless mic set to start youtube;
an entire Christmas one year;
everything for my first apartment: my bed, pots & pans, dining table, microwave, coffee maker–I mean everything.
And a million other things I wish I could have kept.
Sometimes I wish I never left.
I know you wish I never did.
I wish I took more photos.
Thank you for being the first person to take me to the island.
I’m sorry for all of the moments I was ungrateful.
I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you on the phone yesterday.
I would’ve stayed on the line longer.
I probably wouldn’t have hung up.
Thank you for my life as I know it.
I wouldn’t have made it this far if it weren’t for you.
I love you to Eternity.
You are everywhere now.
I’ll see you in everything.
