I got to try my hand at knitting, make kokedama by hand, and eat sushi 31 floors above Bellevue. Not pictured, but I also got to sing karaoke til my hearts content, cuddle my nephews and nieces, and drop Wes off for many hours so that I could miss him so much. Cheers to all the people who made me feel so loved and known at 30 years in <3
Adulthood, round 2.
There are so many things
you could be and do -
so many you have done and been.
I can see you a famous writer,
or a well-known picture-taker,
or another path - but always fighter.
Courageous, honest, smile-maker.
Wherever you take me, I will go.
Wherever you work, I will assist.
You are brilliant and brave, you know.
(And impossible to resist).
Be it Spain or outer space,
a new home, new state, new child,
whether we replace inventions
or reinvent our place,
I will be with you
and it will be worthwhile
You turned and said
How will we hear this music
after we leave?
The next artist
talked about the state of the world today
The magic of a moment
or its misery -
After the earth
has shed its skin,
I will roam its raw rebirth.
Step over steppe,
touch over tundra,
walk along waters.
I will find no death,
no silent killers of souls -
every culture, every country holds.
Today we woke up to our first storm of 2019. Snow came for the first time and your dad left on a trip for the first time since you were born — giving us a lot to think about. The day was a little adventurous but mostly it was a lot less warm.
I took you outside and set you down and you got real quiet like the snow. You smiled a little but only at first. Then we watched everything be still. Then you looked so serious about it, I had to tell you it wouldn’t stay that way.
Snow melts, and he’ll be back.
“I want to be like my Dad.” -Mike Dunn
Not all stories.
Today's story did.
you will make,
will be made for you.
will shape you.
and then dying.
and then living.
for the story
that has dying
and then living
I can already feel it slipping away.
Soon I won’t remember what it was like, not knowing you.
Every day I can see my opinion of you forming into something more solid, more opaque. I keep adding a piece to your puzzle, knowing I won’t finish it ever but still seeing more and more picture nonetheless.
When you first got here I felt like a stranger had been placed on my chest. I would wake up in the middle of the night to feed you and stare down with so many questions. You were not intuitive to me. I think I was given a baby that smiled so early because I needed a baby that knew me, so I could learn to know him.
I was thrown off by you. I wobbled. I could not find my center as I distractedly watched you orbit around me.
You found your rhythm before I found mine. You led the dance.
Today I drove by the place where we saw your first ultrasound photo and I laughed, looking back at you in the back seat. Here you are! So much of you has already bloomed into personality. I lost my breath a little back then. I stared at the stranger in the photo and felt uneasy that someone I didn’t know would change me so much.
And now that feeling is almost gone. I always remember your face now. When you first got here I would sometimes get excited to see you after sleeping because I couldn’t remember what you looked like exactly. I know the sound of your laugh. You are now a more uniquely-only-you kind of strange and less could-be-anyone stranger each day.
I’m guessing someday I won’t be able to recall not knowing you. I may even think I’ve cornered the market on who “Wesley” is. I want to remember that you made me “mom”, but I did not make you, Son.
I want to remember once the illusion of time+proximity=intimacy sets in, that we were total strangers once, until we weren’t. Until one day we woke up friends.
“It turned out so right
For strangers in the night”
We said goodbye to another place that tells part of our story. So grateful in goodbye for something we didn't deserve in the first place. Thankful for the sweet-smelling, well-lit and well-shadowed memories. Thankful for a great "shelter", through some of our most trying and joyful times. Thanks to the Giver of all good things.