The Scrapbook of My Mind

I see me with them, a Friday night, dinner and peanuts.

I see his arm outstretched, needing help with the buttons on his cuff, his hands surrendering to the disease that eventually claimed him.

I see the house, tidy and warm and filled with love. The tiny Christmas tree on the table.

I see us, my best friend and I, sitting at the kitchen table, recording our voices, knowing we would soon say goodbye...again.

I see his hand in mine that very first time, and remember the feeling of wanting forever.

I can close my eyes and picture his profile, as he quietly, effortlessly, chewed a toothpick during the morning sermon.

I see her being wheeled out of the door, and I feel her loss falling like a weight from the sky into my world.

I see that smile, those baby legs moving across the floor for the first time, and hear the giggles.

I see her asleep against my chest, warm, sweet breath in my ear.

I see the way he takes off his socks and places them in his shoes, a habit formed long ago, not abandoned, even in a hurry.

I see the way her hand stretched out to meet mine...as I reached out to help her.

I see her walking into the school, independent, my heart walking around in the world.

When I close my eyes at night, these are the images I see. The hauntingly sad, the bittersweet, the joy and the glory that has made up my life thus far. As another birthday approaches, I am thankful for the scenes above. Each one, each him or her is a part of the scrapbook in my mind. Snapshots of my tenderest moments, my greatest fears, my highest emotions. There are many more, unshared today and hopefully, many more to come.

Living Happily in the Moment!
Beverly