Open Letter to a Lost Friend: Happy Birthday

I’m writing this at the end of what would have been your 62nd birthday.

You would have passed a good time today.

You probably would have gravitated to the music. Found that band that was playing at that place. “Won’t you join us?” Then dance and smile, never letting on it was your birthday.

Your sweetheart sprinkled a little of you on the stones of peace tonight.

I couldn’t be there, but I was.

Walking up the hill from the water hollow to celebrate dad’s birthday a couple days early, I stopped cold. I felt you in the September sky.

“Happy birthday!”

You were on the farm with us some five or six years ago for the September birthdays. Seafood, cake, and toy helicopters to fly towards the sky.

You were about half way through your battle that year.

We miss you, Skip. You were one of the easiest humans to be around.

We remember you. Yet, more than memories of what was, I’m amazed at the love and care you’ve left in your wake, lifting the loves of your life even today.

Thanks for showing us how to pluck the strawberry as we fall, for dancing even on dark days, and for squeezing the sweet out of the most bitter fruit.

Thanks for lingering in our hearts and reminding us of music, smiles, and fun. Oh! And costumes. You still burn bright in our lives.

Happy birthday.

PS: I let my daughter wax my hair blue tonight. Thought of your blue beard.

© Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved. 2018

Remembering Rainbows

This Swarovski glass crystal hangs in my kitchen window. For over twenty years, I’ve kept a crystal in that window. For over twenty years, many mornings start with rainbows.

Before some of my children could walk or say mama, the morning light would crash through the crystal and splash rainbows on the cabinets and floors. My children learned to follow the bursts of color through the air, capturing little rainbows with tiny hands.

I remember the rainbows.

The nest is long empty, but I keep the crystal in the window.

Crystals are fun. Science. Fractured light. Folklore. Memories. Magic. The simple joy of chasing rainbows in our tiny kitchen.

Mama! Rainbow! I got the rainbow!

But rainbows are impossible to hold. The sun floats up through the morning, indifferent, and the colors follow, fading from the kitchen.

Those tiny hands are long grown, their adventures and journeys like arcs. I stand in the wellspring of rainbows and look up. On some mornings, as the light shatters through crystal in the window, I dance among the tiny rainbows. And remember.

©Copyright Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved, 2017.