Fly

You never knew, but when I was little I would secretly watch you dance with my dad in the dining room. Old country records would crackle out over the speakers on a Sunday afternoon. Nestled somewhere in between finishing lunch and the afternoon doze in front of a black and white movie, you would move gracefully around the room. Arms tightly locked around each other, you would sway side to side in time with the music, never once opening your eyes. Every so often I would catch a quick glimpse of your face. Your soft smile told me that you were finally happy.
Unconditionally in love with the man who lost his wife, the children who had no mum, you stood by us with an open heart. Thirty years later, I can’t ever remember a time when you didn’t listen proudly to everything going on in my life and get excited for all the small triumphs. Always wanting nothing but the best for us, wishing us happiness every single day.
You held me when I had the measles and hugged me when I left home. Danced with me on our holidays and laughed until our bellies hurt. We swam and walked and played and talked. You became part of the furniture, a heart in our home.
You always said to me that everything happens for a reason. That, I know, is true. I don’t remember the first words I ever said to you, but the last were “I love you”. For that, I will be eternally grateful.
We have just two sunsets more before your body will be a part of the earth. If I could make just one more phone call, see you one last time, I would.
And maybe one day I will fly next to you. I will hug you and give you a big kiss. I will tell you how much I have missed you and how beautiful you look…but not yet my darling, not today.