I love the Summer Rain

I’m late in posting for Father’s Day.   This is always one of my go-to happy memories.

feet rain wet puddle
Photo by Alicia Zinn on Pexels.com Jeans soaked, feet wet in a puddle of rain

This is the original essay which was my tribute for Father’s Day a few years ago.  I condensed it for an assignment last week.  Please enjoy this version too.

“I love the summer rain!” I shouted in my head because there was no one around to hear my declaration and ‘cause no one really cared.  “Why?” I asked myself; I knew the answer from the minute I felt the first heavy drops.  It was because of him.  And because of him, I stood there for a moment in the pouring rain.  Just a moment, long enough for my jeans to get soaked and my tee shirt drenched and long enough to conjure up the video I wanted to play in my mind. 

splash of water
Photo by Noelle Otto on Pexels.com Fun in the rain

He must have been about the age I am now that day.  Mid-fifties, receding gray hair, twinkling eyes, round face with half a crooked smile and a round belly to match. He wore shorts, his thin shirt unbuttoned halfway, and he’d already lost his shoes on the porch as he ran out to catch the rain.   In all the excitement, he skipped and twirled tempting my girls to join him.  Lovey had already shed her sandals and was waiting for the “go ahead.”   I realized it was contagious as I liberated Annie from her orthopedics.  Soon they were all laughing and skipping and twirling, wet through and through in the tropical rain.  My mother and I just smiled from the sidelines, more concerned with what

the neighbors in the subdivision were thinking behind their blinds.

They called him “El Sapo” – “The Frog.”  They say as a kid he would love to cool down by laying on the floor, with his legs in a diamond shape like a frog.  He loved the water, he loved the rain, and he loved us.  In the good times and the bad, of that, we could be sure.

I wished him here today.  I wanted to be that little girl and dance in the rain and to have him hold me tight like he did the day Eddie died and he had no words to console me.  How does one console a daughter whose young husband just died in the recovery room?  We held each other the same way as we said our final good-byes to my mom on a warm summer morning.   I wanted to hold him for the night that he died that I didn’t, but rather blew him a kiss from the door because I had the flu and didn’t want to share it with him.  

As I think of him now, I know he wasn’t perfect, but I am grateful for all he was and all he left behind including that little bit of him in me. 

 

Gratitude and Thanksgiving

I sat here in front of a blank page for a while wanting to write something but couldn’t get started. The season brings many memories, most with warm and loving feelings.  From our earliest days in Brooklyn to most recent holidays in Florida so much has changed around us. The family has grown and spread out around the country.  Last year we spoke about having one big family holiday like the old days at some midpoint probably on the East Coast.  It’s not as easy as it sounds. It’s still a work in progress. We gather in smaller groups, now. Some of us have become part of other families while others create new traditions with friends. 

As I reflect back through the years, I think of the faces at the table that have come and gone; friends who’ve moved away,  partners that didn’t work out, loved ones who have passed.   I am amused thinking how the contents of our table have changed through the years as well.  Often persons who join us being a part of their traditions.  Through the years we’ve added things like homemade stuffing, collard greens, sweet potato casserole with pecan toppings from the South; kremsnita, a phyllo cheese pie from Croatia, or yucca marinated with onions, olive oil, and vinegar, common in the Carribean.  

Thanksgiving was not a tradition in Puerto Rico for my parents growing up in the 1930s and 40s, but I remember in Brooklyn in the 1960s we celebrated it every year with my cousins, aunts, and uncles. Our parents blended their traditional foods and flavors with what was usual holiday food in the NorthEast. Growing up we would have a roasted turkey prepared with a rub of garlic, salt, and oregano; it was the same type of seasoning Puerto Ricans traditionally used for roast pork during the holidays and special occasions.  We had baked sweet potatoes or yams and guineitos en escabeche; pickled green bananas that were marinated days before. These were served alongside a dish called arroz con gandules; it’s like a paella, prepared in one pot with pigeon peas, peppers, onions, garlic, cilantro, and tomatoes or tomato sauce.   My mother loved to cook and often made pumpkin pie,  flan, and Pillsbury sugar cookies.  

All the years of memories tend to blend together, and in my recollection, I remember our faith practice of gratitude and singing; in old photographs, I see dancing. I distinctly remember lots of laughing and warm smiles.  My mother had started experiencing symptoms of her illness, and my dad took to drinking every day after work and yet,  I remember feeling safe and loved. With all their personal struggles, they made us, their children, a priority.  For that alone, I am eternally grateful.  I think that supportive foundation helped me tackle a lot of challenges throughout the years.

It was that feeling of love and security that I wanted to re-create for our kids.  My siblings and I did.  My daughters and their cousins remember the holidays with the same nostalgia.  They want to pass on the same love, laughter to their own children.  Thankfully, as the family grows, they have added new traditions along the way. 

Today as I contemplate the holiday season, I wonder why Thanksgiving is not a more important holiday in this country. Of all the holidays, I think Thanksgiving can serve to unite us as a nation.  Many cultures and religions practice gratitude. From earlier times people have celebrated a good harvest giving thanks to a higher power.  Even folks who are not “religious” recognize that living in gratitude and being appreciative is to be in a good state of mind. One would think that given the emphasis that our leaders place on God’slaws and God’s rules, that they could agree to celebrate gratitude with more enthusiasm.  Giving thanks seems to be a common denominator, even if you are a humanist you can be grateful for your particular abilities and achievements. 

Perhaps someone’s White House can one day hold a service and invite religious and secular leaders of diverse groups to a Thanksgiving dinner.  There is something about literally breaking bread together that unites people and overcomes barriers.  I know it’s not even remotely on the agenda for this administration but its something to consider for the future. I understand that similar activities have been attempted at different times without success, falling apart at party lines, but I am sitting here living in the moment during a season of hope and so I continue to believe in our democracy.

I am mindful that not everyone feels the same during this season, perhaps some can’t find anything to be grateful for, not past or present.  Itis actually very common to feel sad and alone especially during this holiday season.  I would encourage my readers to open your eyes, look around and reach out to a neighbor, a friend, a co-worker and perhaps invite someone to join you.  My family has never had excessive material wealth, but there has always been room at the table for one more.  To those who may get an invitation, don’t turn it down.  Its never too late to make a pleasant memory. 

I am thankful that you stopped by today.  Peace be with you. 

Just Friends, For all Time

Alondra Elena Delopas sat on a swivel chair in her lanai listening to the rain as the winds picked up and thunder clapped in the distance.  Baby Girl lay with her legs sprawled but her nose pressed against the screen. She struggled to see what was moving in the conservation land that bordered the small condo-villa community where they lived.  If Baby Girl saw something coming closer, she jumped and whimpered excitedly thinking she would get a chance to run out to chase after it.

Can’t Turn Back Time

shallow focus of clear hourglass

Alondra or “Lonnie,” as close friends and family called her, was having a rough week.  Today, clients canceled the only two appointments she had scheduled.  They didn’t want to look at houses in a storm; maybe they just weren’t ready. It’s happened before.  She usually found listening to the rain soothing, but today, the stormy tropical weather didn’t help her mood. She felt tired, cold and lonely.  She went back inside to read but couldn’t wrap her head around on another “kick your business into high gear” self-help book.  She turned to the mindlessness of surfing the net on her phone where she found the same stories, memes, and jokes all over again.

One story caught her eye.  It was another of those stories where old friends from high school find each other and decide to spend the rest of their days making up for lost time.  All of it made possible through the magic of social media.  The funny thing is that she recently had been thinking about her friend Bobby from high school. They had been in school together since seventh grade.  She’d adored him during high school and college but never in a romantic way.  Outside of school, they were part of the same social group from church, and they worked at the same summer jobs. Bobby and Lonnie enjoyed a lot of the same things, and she liked hanging out with him.  He was smart, witty, and amusing; they could talk for hours even when everyone else had gone.  Bobby had introduced Lonnie to her boyfriend Harry, and he started dating Bernice.

Many years later a co-worker told her that it was impossible for men and woman to be “just friends.”  She had started to argue the point by bringing up her friendship with Bobby, but before she opened her mouth, saw a memory flash before her.  It was a crisp autumn day in Upstate New York when Bobby’s parents invited her to drive with them when he returned to the State College after the break.

Trip Back to School

It was a two-hour ride, and his parents had made plans to stop at their friend’s house for lunch along the way.  Afterward, while they waited for his parents to finish their visit, Bobby and Lonnie went for a walk in the wooded land behind the house.  They chatted talked and laughed like so many times before, but in some way, Alondra sensed that it was not a day like every other.  At times she could be intuitive and sensitive to subtle changes in her surroundings. There seemed to be something in the air made her feel obligated to comment that it was too bad that Bernice could not come along.  She believed Bernice would have enjoyed the beautiful landscape dressed for the fall.  Bobby quietly agreed, and they walked on.

They stopped on a small wooden bridge as they crossed over the swollen creek.  A burst of cold air made Alondra regret that she had left her jacket back at the house.   Bobby stepped closer and put his arm timidly around her shoulder.  She felt his face so close to hers, and then as he gently turned her toward him, she felt his soft lips lightly brush hers.  Her immediate impulse was to push him away.  “What are you doing?” she reprimanded.   The hurt in his loving eyes pierced her heart, and she took his face in her hands and looked tenderly into his gentle mismatched eyes, one blue, and one hazel.  She told him she was crazy about him, how could she not; he was her dearest friend, but they couldn’t do this to Bernice.  Bobby nodded in agreement, and they started to walk back to the house in silence.

Awkward quiet moments always made Alondra respond with humor.  She elbowed Bobby in the ribs now and said jokingly that the bridge must have been bewitched because she had felt something strange too.  He sheepishly chuckled and added that without a doubt the setting was perfect for a romantic moment.  “What were we thinking? “  They said in unison, which caused them to laugh again and end the uncomfortable moment.  When they got back, his parents were ready to continue the trip.   At his dorm, they said their goodbyes as old friends do.  They promised to stay in touch and would see each other when he got back at his next school break.  And so it was until she left the state.  Their friendship survived.

That’s What Friends are For

Alondra never told Bobby of her conversation with Bernice several weeks prior.  Bernice told Alondra that she was feeling insecure about her relationship with Bobby.  She confessed that she wondered if Bobby, by spending so much time alone with Lonnie was feeling an attraction beyond friendship.  “You know, you are cute, petite and always dressed nice. Maybe…”   the words were left hanging in the air.  Alondra looked at her friend as if with disbelief.  First of all, Alondra considered herself too short and was often frustrated with her thick and wavy brown hair. Although she filled her clothes in all the right places, they were just hand-me-downs from her older cousin which she had adapted with accessories and trims from the five and dime so that they looked more age appropriate.

Bernice had powder blue eyes and baby fine blond hair that she always wore straight down as was the norm among their group.  She was tall and lanky; sometimes it seemed that she was still getting used to her young-adult body.  Alondra found the whole idea absurd and pooh-poohed Bernice’s fears.  Although she and Bobby never spoke of such things, Alondra reassured Bernice that Bobby loved her; that he was just a supportive friend who didn’t want Lonnie to deal with her recent break-up alone.

On her way home from State College with Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Alondra played that conversation over in her head.  She didn’t see it coming but did Bernice know anything before. The incident was never spoken of again by anyone.

Not that Person

Alondra didn’t know if it was the rough week that just past combined with the dreary, stormy weather that made her feel vulnerable enough to want to reach out to her old friend.  She had to admit that after that day in the woods, the “what if” would haunt her now and then.  Lonnie got a cup of tea and found herself searching Facebook profiles for Robert James Smith from Brooklyn, NY. She quickly became overwhelmed by the number of profiles with the same name all over the world.  She scolded herself and gave up the search. “This is ridiculous.  I will not be that person.”

Alondra Elena Delopas was not one to let a life lesson slip by.  Her life experiences had taught her that.  She remembered from somewhere a suggestion that moments stay in our memories so that we could retrieve their message when we need them.  She was sure these vivid memories of her friendship with Bobby came back to her so vividly for a reason now. Maybe, she thought, it was merely to confirm that Karma is a b!+@h.   “Hum,” she thought. “so this is what it feels like?”

Another verifiable cliché

Indeed the story seems familiar, almost too fresh in her memory. It seemed played out in reverse with older actors.  As she considered the analogy, she realized that her friend Nan was right when she paraphrased Gabriel Garcia Marquez. “Just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want, doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they have to give.”  Remembering her platonic love for Bobby helped her understand what confused her for years.  Remembering her relationship with Bobby was the missing piece of the puzzle.  As she accepted this truth, she let go of the pain and hurt.  She became aware that there was nothing to forgive. At that moment, she chose to remember the good times, the adventures, even the caring and affection.

Alondra Elena Delopas realized that she had been more fortunate than most. Love is meant to be shared, offered expecting nothing in return. She had shared something special and given her love more than once. Each time in a different way, with a different purpose and intensity but authentic, it was a true love.  No one could say differently.

She added another verifiable cliché to her list: “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. “

A couple of years later she felt that restlessness to try to find Bobby again.  For the sake of their friendship, she wanted to connect to see how his life had turned out.  She found him and wrote a letter that she never sent.

Read it at this link from a previous post.  https://rosalind.life/2018/05/28/the-letter-i-never-wrote/

#shapingyourstory  #DigDeeper

A PRECIOUS Tribute to Mom

This has been a week of anniversaries for me.  I’ve come to a place where I am at peace with each one.  I’ve reposted this in remembrance of my Mom.  I know she is free and sometimes I feel her so close to me.   I am forever grateful for her.  She wasn’t perfect and yet she was wonderful.  I hope you can enjoy

via AtoZ Challenge P is for PRECIOUS

Fireflies and Fantasy on the Fourth of July

“Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don’t we consider it his duty to escape?. . .If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!” 
― J.R.R. Tolkien from Goodreads

The sun had turned down the furnace and dusk approached with a hint of a breeze and clear skies.  The girls’ excitement mounted when darkness inched its way into the neighborhood. Daddy had bought poppers and fireworks at the supermarket in an attempt to recreate for them the memories of his childhood celebrations. It was the Fourth of July!

Fireworks2After the poppers, the girls reluctantly agreed to sit with Mommy in their camp chairs to watch Daddy from a safe distance. The fact that they weren’t hands on didn’t hamper the enthusiasm and the chatter. When Daddy wasn’t setting them off quickly enough like the ones at the park, they cried, “Don’t you have one more Daddy?” In the neighborhood, we could hear other families cracking and popping small arsenals. Not far away, small rockets exploded into the air showering the night sky with colorful stars high above the trees.  It all looked magical against the silhouette of the Blue Ridge Mountains.   

I was quickly caught up in the excitement of our mini celebration. When our fireworks display was over, we noticed fireflies or lightning bugs in the dark spaces between the houses.  As you may know, I was raised a city kid, and nature never ceases to amaze me.  We didn’t have fireflies in our asphalt jungles.  All of a sudden, I couldn’t help myself; I was in the moment and on the edge of reality again.  I said to my granddaughters, “Did you know that some people think that fireflies might be fairies in disguise?”  

The girls are at that age when a vivid imagination is easy to access. They teeter between knowing what is real and wanting to believe in impossible fantasies.  I thought we could have some fun picturing little fairies buzzing around while fireworks were still going off in the distance – sort of like Disney… maybe.  With all my enthusiasm, I forgot that one of my granddaughters, Catie Dee, wants nothing to do with bugs; while Anelie Rose, is a future crafty, horse-riding, flute playing art teacher and ninja scientist who is always trying to figure the why of things.   

Fireworks 3Instead of just marveling at the thought that there were fairies all around us, Anelie Rose wanted to catch one to see if it was true what people say.  She promptly went back into the garage to grab a net and with determination announced that she was ready to start the hunt. Catie Dee stood there with a frozen smile and fear in her moss green eyes, but she dutifully followed her big sister.  Anelie Rose didn’t have much luck with the net, but Mom almost caught one with her bare hands. Daddy remembered that when he was a kid, they caught lightning bugs in clear plastic cups to see them when they light up.  Unfortunately, there weren’t any around us now.  The fairies noticed that humans were trying to nab them.

We spotted what seemed to be a fairy picnic across the street. The fireflies lit up the trees as if it were Christmas; surely they could catch one there.  Off they went to the edge of the woods with the net and two clear plastic cups. Daddy did catch one but when the girls took a closer look, it was still just a bug, and it didn’t even look like it had a light.  We all decided it was best to let it go assuming it was probably too afraid to light up and much less to change into a fairy.  As it flew away, we saw its little light glowing in the dark.

We were heading into the house for the night, making comments that we were glad the lightning bug or fairy was OK. All of a sudden Anelie Rose announced: “I have an idea; we’ll set a trap!”  She was adamant about wanting to see for herself whether lightning bugs turn into lightning fairies. She had the idea to tie up one of the ornamental fairies from the flower garden, put it in the net and place it on the bushes.  She expected that the other fairies would try to rescue their friend and one was bound to get caught in the net. She and Daddy went back out to set the trap while little Catie Dee came in the house with us.  She had enough of chasing bugs to last her a lifetime.

The next morning while her dad was still asleep, Anelie Rose came into the guest room and asked me to go with her to check the trap.  At first, she was disappointed because she hadn’t caught anything, but as she started to take it down, she said: “Wait a minute, it looks like the yarn is loose.  They must have tried to untie her to set her free but couldn’t, and so they left. They will probably be back. I’ll try again tonight.” 

Fairy traps 2

She continued to set traps for three or four nights without catching anything.  She asked her dad to look online for more ideas. Each night she and her dad tried another plan without success.  Each morning she found another clue that made her think there had been another rescue attempt. She proceeded to explain the reason for her insistence. “If you catch a fairy; she will grant you a wish, and I know exactly what I’m going to wish for.”  Convinced that she was getting closer to catching a fairy, she persisted.   It was breaking my heart, and I was feeling guilty about mentioning the firefly fairies in the first place.    

I was feeling guiltier still when told me that her special wish was the driving force behind her patience and persistence.  She wanted to wish that I would come back again soon for a more extended visit – maybe a year or more.  Aww, my sweet and innocent precious little girl; I felt awful.  Later, her Mom and I reminisced about that Christmas Eve when she and her sister had spied on me and caught me bringing wrapped presents up from the basement with tags that read “Merry Christmas, Love Santa.”  They were both so angry that I had lied to them about Santa Claus.  Her sister told me she felt like a fool in school when at eight and a half years old, she still believed in Santa.  (My bad.) “What else have you lied to us about?”  They demanded.  They got bikes and more Barbies that year.  I think they are over it.  It was fun to remember, but Mom wanted no part of the scam on her daughter.

On our way to the airport, Anelie Rose jumped into the car with a pad and pencil. “On the drive over, maybe we can come up with a list of other things that might work for our trap,”  I suggested they get a play cookie or a cupcake and put it in the net. I’d heard fairies liked sweets and their play food looks almost real.  She looked at me incredulously; I had suggested that before but she didn’t think that would work.  She put her things down and said: “That’s okay; Daddy and I will come up with something else later.”  I could imagine Catie Dee rolling her eyes from the back seat.  She didn’t understand her sister’s mission.  All she could see were the bugs; she couldn’t imagine anything past that. I’ll bet she hoped her sister would forget about it once I was gone.

The next day, when I was home, I got a call from my daughter, “Anelie Rose wants toFairies in hands 2018 FaceTime; she has something to show you.”  After our usual greetings and I miss you more; and before her sister could get to the phone, she burst out: “Guess what?” She put two figures in front of the camera and in one breath said: “We caught two fairies! Daddy looked it up, and it said that fairies turn into statues when they get caught. Look, the wings are clear. And I already got a wish granted! I wished to be able to FaceTime with you, and we are doing it! We are going to let them go tonight, but I wanted to show you first.”  What could I say?  “Wow! That’s fantastic! They look beautiful.”

 

It appears that her dad was feeling bad for her too. He decided to get a fairy figurine from the fairy village collection at the local craft store.  She was so excited. Her idea was a success!  That evening even Catie Dee got involved in the fairy sendoff; after all, they were no longer bugs. 

Fairy in hand Ad 2018

What fun! I see a trip in my future. I guess maybe I should start packing my bags.  

The letter I never wrote

My Dearest Bobby, 

It’s been almost half a century since we last saw each other or since we shared about our lives and yet I looked for you a few years back when I found myself in a new city without friends. Where have all my young friends gone, long time passing? 

How I had missed you!  You drove west on a cross-country adventure right after college, looking for John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High.  I went looking for myself on the little Caribbean Island where my family roots were waiting. 

The last time you wrote to me, you told me that you finally understood when I wrote to you about my special love for Edward.  You wrote that you had found someone extraordinary as well and felt like you were on cloud nine. “I’m walking on air! This is the one,” you wrote.  I was so happy for you.  You deserved to be loved to the max.   I never heard from you again; not even when I wrote to tell you of Edward’s unexpected passing.  I always wondered about that and thought it strange.  Did you get my letter?  It was before Facebook and emails when letters often were lost and neither party knew it.  I believe in my heart that if you would have gotten it, you would have reached out.  You were always there for me.

Speaking of Facebook, let me tell you that there must be a gazillion Robert J. Smiths on Facebook! You had told me once. that Robert James Smith was a common family name from one of the islands in the Canadian Maritime provinces where your parents were born. I expected many Smiths but I don’t know why I wasn’t expecting so many with that name combination in our age group. I tried many variations to filter my search and convince the algorithms to give you up. 

Finally there it was; a Robert J Smith from New York currently living in the Rocky Mountains!  The profile picture was a portrait of a past president known as a great social reformer. I knew I had to be on to something, but the profile said this Robert J was a computer guy at some Rocky Mountain University, not a famous photojournalist traveling the world in search of a great story. 

Although this Robert J was not the photojournalist you had dreamed of becoming, there were random sarcastic posts and funny tongue-in-cheek comments in reference to some joke among your friends.  I remember that you were always amusing with a sharp wit. I kept scrolling on that page.  The information available on the public profile gave me an indication that I may have found the right person. 

It seems this Robert J was an activist like my Bobby who inspired and motivated us to march and protest many things while we were in high school.  I remember the cold, wet days we spent holding signs in front of the local state-run mental hospital to oppose the abuse and demand better community options for the mentally ill and developmentally disabled.  We recycled and protested about pollution. All the while you documented it with exceptional photos for the school paper.

It seemed like this Robert J was also a patron of the arts and I remembered how we spent that one summer exploring all the little museums in the city because we had already exhausted the larger ones.  The haunting photos you took at the Cloisters were amazing.  It was exciting watching them develop in the makeshift darkroom in your parents’ apartment. 

We enjoyed that summer even if it was just the two of us. All our friends were busy with their own projects or were just not interested in the same things.  Bernice approached me once about her insecurities because we were spending so much time together.  I remembered assuring her that you loved her and the only reason you kept inviting me was that you being ever the supportive friend, didn’t want me to be alone as I dealt with my recent breakup with Harry.  

Suddenly as I scrolled through the photos on that Facebook page, I saw your smiling face; still looking like a cherub with curly gray hair.  Even in the black and white photo, your eyes had a sparkle as you sipped from a champagne flute in the back seat of a limo with your wife.  She looked nice. I was glad to see you so happy; I didn’t bother with the friend request.

About a year later I tried again.  This time there was just one status update post.  You were glad it would be your last radiation treatment. You explained that you had just started chemotherapy on Brain Cancer Awareness Day.  So many memories, and some regrets, all came rushing at me.  I said a prayer but didn’t contact you.  I wish I had.   

Months later around your birthday, I checked a third time, but when nothing new had been posted, I looked for your wife.  Did I just become a stalker? I didn’t care; I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I saw the condolences on her page.  So many people were acknowledging what a wonderful friend you were and how you touched their lives.  They all loved you, as I did.  I saw what she said was her favorite picture of you posted for your birthday.  She wanted to reassure her friends that she was coping well and but admitted she missed you so much. I was glad to see she loved you so.

It was a professional portrait, and it was how I had imagined you aging with soft gray curls and a neatly trimmed beard.  Your mismatched eyes were apparent, one green, one hazel.  They were thoughtful eyes, caring eyes.  My sweet Bobby; you found someone who loved you the way I couldn’t.  I thank God for her. I wanted to reach out to her and add my condolences, but I didn’t. 

I still remember you on your birthday and say a prayer.  I’m sorry I didn’t love you the way you wanted; the way your parents would have wanted. I’m glad we were best friends though. I’ll always remember the special moments we shared, the decision we made that summer to protect Bernice. I question myself about that choice from time to time and naturally wonder what could have been,. 

Of one thing I am certain, I am grateful that I had you to walk beside me as we were growing up and transitioning into adulthood. 

Rest in peace my dear one. 

You are forever in my heart – love me.                                                                                                                                                           

america arizona blue canyon

Day Eight: Reinvent the Letter Format   #everydayinspiration