If not for old photographs, I might have a hard time believing you were ever a blind baby or costume-wearing toddler, or that your first words were in Spanish. My baby is gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in the foot taller than me man you have grown into. We read the news outlets and you have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in your opinion of them or disagreeing with me on anything actually. You need razor blades, shower gel, and privacy, and yet it does seem like yesterday when you would waddle into my bedroom and sing, “Eyes and ears and knees and toes, knees and toes.” It had been my privilege and honor to share every day with you, every lacrosse game, teachers visit, science fair, ROTC performance, and award presentations.
Regrets? A few. I wish I would have gotten mad less but then I would never have heard you say, “Calm your crazy ass down!” Which, as you know, makes me howl with laughter.
Victories? A few. You know how to dance, rope, and ride. You have a heart for service and your work with the military vets continues to inspire me. Not only is your first language Spanish but you embrace the culture.
You know that our attempt to understand or define God is not only ridiculous but also ego-centered.
You know there is a space, a place, beyond our five senses that Christians call heaven and hell; Buddhists and Hindus call it interval between lifetimes; and Aboriginal people call it the unseen world. Your faith in what lies beyond your five senses is being replaced by the experience of it.
You have your own agenda, you have for years. It’s not my agenda, not what I would choose, but you have more courage than I do. You don’t allow someone else’s fear-based version of life to interfere with yours. My respect for you escalates. You are going to be all right.
I hope you fail and mess up sometimes because that means you are trying new things.
I hope you understand the darkness, bad days, guilt, frustration, anger, and pain; all of these are catalysts for growth and will push you to better places when you step into them.
I hope you always believe good days are always coming, and that life is too short to play small. And I hope you carry my admiration, respect, and love with you always.
As your childhood comes to an end, it seems my work with you is complete, or you with me, since it was you raising me these past 18 years.
Go well, Samuel Luke, my son. Go knowing that your father and I will be here, setting you a place at the table for one of our family dinners, and Panzer will be laying in front of the kitchen door, waiting for you to return, as we all will be.
All my love,
Mother
Michelle – so beautiful. I’m crying!