As I go about my days ... washing dishes, folding laundry, making beds ... I often think of my children. Sometimes entire stories of their childhood take shape in my mind and lie waiting to be transferred to this journal, but hours pass without my hands touching the keyboard, and soon another day has vanished, taking with it my unwritten words.
Do those children-grown-big come here looking for me?Do they wonder if I'm thinking of them?I am.I always am.
Each night I turn out the light beside my bed and begin a silent litany. Similar to devout Catholics saying their rosary, only I'm a lapsed Episcopalian saying my children:
Tony, Patti, Carmen, Karen, Honey Gail
Dale, Kyle, Erin
Mandy, Ashley, Mary Lynn
Anthony, Meggie
Kaitlin, John, Austin
Jennifer, Jayma
Aubrey Rose, Brett Anthony, Emma Violet,
Victoria Nix, Emma Kate, Drake cooper,
Dylan Danielle, Noah Edward
Each name a prayer.
Each prayer an image.The freckled-faced boy in little league uniform sliding triumphantly into home plate ... the teenage cheerleader practicing routines in the back yard ... the ballerina in a pink tutu ... the laughing little girl with the family dog nipping her ankles ... the worried little girl climbing steps of a sliding board for the first time ...
I loved those long-ago children.
I love them still ....
