There are few things in my life I have difficulty writing about. You are one. Your story has called to me since March 12, 1986. It not only comes to me in words, but in colors, songs, pictures, and memories. It calls to me when I’m driving in the wash of the sunlight on a beautiful back road with the music blaring, and it calls to me in the dark, stillness of sleepless nights. I fear your story. I fear there aren’t words powerful enough. Can I make you understand? Is it even possible to put into words those colors, songs, pictures and memories? Words like love are not enough. You, my Katie, are the reason why.
I see so much when I look into your beautiful blue eyes. My past. My present. My future. I see the love Dad and I shared when you were created and I smile. I see an intelligent, kind, compassionate woman and I’m so overwhelmed with emotion I have to close my eyes and remember to breathe. I see grand babies and great grandbabies who will—God, how miraculously!—be a part of me and you, and I feel weak.
I was selfish to have one child. I only remember looking down into your eyes and believing I didn’t want to share that love with any others. I wanted you to have everything I had to give. Now I spend every waking moment hoping that I did. I see my sense of humor, my determination, and my love for family in you. I take credit for those things. The rest is all you, babygirl.
I said your story comes in colors—it does. It is the softest blush of pink of a daughter. I said your story comes to me in songs—it does. Every song, every word is about you. I said your story comes to me in pictures—it does. A picture of you in nothing but underpants and plastic CVS high-heels. And I said your story comes to me in memories. It does. So many, Katydid. So very many. They are truly my treasures. I guard them fiercely. I protect them with all my might.
This is your story. Please tell me you understand.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Katherine Elizabeth
There are few things in my life I have difficulty writing about. You are one. Your story has called to me since March 12, 1986. It not only comes to me in words, but in colors, songs, pictures, and memories. It calls to me when I’m driving in the wash of the sunlight on a beautiful back road with the music blaring, and it calls to me in the dark, stillness of sleepless nights. I fear your story. I fear there aren’t words powerful enough. Can I make you understand? Is it even possible to put into words those colors, songs, pictures and memories? Words like love are not enough. You, my Katie, are the reason why.
I see so much when I look into your beautiful blue eyes. My past. My present. My future. I see the love Dad and I shared when you were created and I smile. I see an intelligent, kind, compassionate woman and I’m so overwhelmed with emotion I have to close my eyes and remember to breathe. I see grand babies and great grandbabies who will—God, how miraculously!—be a part of me and you, and I feel weak.
I was selfish to have one child. I only remember looking down into your eyes and believing I didn’t want to share that love with any others. I wanted you to have everything I had to give. Now I spend every waking moment hoping that I did. I see my sense of humor, my determination, and my love for family in you. I take credit for those things. The rest is all you, babygirl.
I said your story comes in colors—it does. It is the softest blush of pink of a daughter. I said your story comes to me in songs—it does. Every song, every word is about you. I said your story comes to me in pictures—it does. A picture of you in nothing but underpants and plastic CVS high-heels. And I said your story comes to me in memories. It does. So many, Katydid. So very many. They are truly my treasures. I guard them fiercely. I protect them with all my might.
This is your story. Please tell me you understand.
I see so much when I look into your beautiful blue eyes. My past. My present. My future. I see the love Dad and I shared when you were created and I smile. I see an intelligent, kind, compassionate woman and I’m so overwhelmed with emotion I have to close my eyes and remember to breathe. I see grand babies and great grandbabies who will—God, how miraculously!—be a part of me and you, and I feel weak.
I was selfish to have one child. I only remember looking down into your eyes and believing I didn’t want to share that love with any others. I wanted you to have everything I had to give. Now I spend every waking moment hoping that I did. I see my sense of humor, my determination, and my love for family in you. I take credit for those things. The rest is all you, babygirl.
I said your story comes in colors—it does. It is the softest blush of pink of a daughter. I said your story comes to me in songs—it does. Every song, every word is about you. I said your story comes to me in pictures—it does. A picture of you in nothing but underpants and plastic CVS high-heels. And I said your story comes to me in memories. It does. So many, Katydid. So very many. They are truly my treasures. I guard them fiercely. I protect them with all my might.
This is your story. Please tell me you understand.
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