in this moment, how i wish i could sit down right next to you on that step on the front walk of the house on garland circle. i wish i could sit right next to you and ask you so many questions. what is your favorite color? i think blue, but perhaps it is pink on this day as you comb strawberry shortcake's hair. how do you feel about being a big sister? what does your baby brother's laugh sound like? do you ever notice your parents holding hands? what is your favorite thing in the whole world? when is the last time you told your mother that you love her? why are you afraid to learn to ride your bike?
i would take notes just like a reporter as you paint pictures with your words. would you tell me a joke? would you laugh out loud? would you make up a story? would you sit there quietly inside shyness? would you really seem as old as you felt? would you seem more like a five year old? would you see the light that shines inside you?
i want to hear you sigh with contentment. i want to see you toss your head back as you giggle. i want to see you twirl. i want to listen as you play pretend. i want to soak up a minute or two or ten of just seeing you ready for all that awaits.
i wish i could sit right down next to you and learn all that you know before you begin to forget.
and as i look at this moment captured almost thirty years ago, i sit inside this truth: together, we remember.