constant

You’re writing a story you don’t want to write. You’re reluctant to even put the pen to paper, yet you’re unable to stop. The words and the thoughts consume you, and there’s no where else to go but these blank pages. In the end, they’re not what matters most. In the end, they’re an outlet for your mixed emotions and you’ll soon forget them.

You’ll forget about the pages, and the feeling you had when you tried to explain. They’ll be a faded memory some day, when you sit on your porch in the sunset, thinking back on your life and the places you went, the choices you made and the memories you have created. It will be a fond memory, kind of like how your house used to smell Sunday morning when your father would be in the kitchen making eggs and bacon and you can still remember how the scent of coffee was intriguing but whenever he offered you some you’d wrinkle your nose and shake your head remembering the bitterness of the last time you tasted it.

You’ll forget it even mattered, how you had this sense of urgency trying to stack your words in the perfect way, so that they would make sense. So that they wouldn’t fall over.

What will matter is the way she looked on your wedding day, not her dress or her hair. Not her makeup or the shoes she chose, but how her face lit up when your hands joined together and you were taking the first leap of many. Maybe you thought it wouldn’t be something you’d remember so clearly, but nothing could compare to that trust. Except for the memory of her paint stained hands as she rolled that last bit of paint onto the walls of the room your first child would hopefully sleep in. How you both discussed what color would be most soothing, or maybe there should be a mural with colorful scenery behind their crib. And you remember how she was so strong when you weren’t, and the sound of a brand new person taking their first few breaths of air and the smell of their skin when you held them night after sleepless night, your eyes struggling to stay open. You will remember how she would kiss every little scratched up knee and bruised elbow, she would sneak into their rooms and stroke their hair in the middle of the night just to have one more minute with them, and she’d crawl back into your bed telling you how grateful she was with teary eyes squeezing your hand as she fell asleep.

You will remember so many things, and you will treasure all of them for what they made you experience, how they made you feel and how they changed you. No single moment defining who you are, but all of these bits and pieces doing their part.

And so here you are, slowly rocking while the last bit of sun warms your skin, that day playing back in your head and you smile wondering what might have been. But you have no regrets. A car pulls up in front of the house and there he is, the love of your life and his small blueprint copies chasing one another out from the backseat and soon crashing into your lap. Grammy! You place each of your hands on top of their heads and ruffle their hair. They kiss your cheek and run inside to see her - she made their favorite for supper and you can see every piece of her in everything you love.