I hear her in the wind rustling the leaves at the top of the trees no matter where I am. I see her when I see a young mother bending over and picking up her baby and resting her on her hip.
I feel her when one of my sisters hugs me and sinks the side of their face into my chest. When I wash my face with a bar of Ivory soap and close my eyes, I envision her and see her smile, her hazel eyes, when she was young, older, happy, healthier. I think of her when I smell burnt toast, fresh brewed coffee, baby powder, Tide detergent on a clean towel. I think of her anytime I hear any song by Miles Davis, Dave Brubeck, The Supremes, she would sing along to every song but knew almost none of the words! I know her and she’s just too feisty to lay down and be still, to lay there and be quiet. No, I’m sure she’s carrying on, everyday, in her Joycey Baby ways.
I bet Dad’s laying there, next to her, and for the first time ever, likely forever, not saying, “You have to stop talking!!!”
I love this, Rich. I’ll bet Joyce does, too.
I was too teary eyed to comment on Sunday. That was heartbreaking and Beautiful , Rich. I’m sure that was hard to write. XO