Sunday, September 25, 2016
A HISTORY BOX OF JEWELS
I am trying to keep pace with Liz as she strides in the sand.
It takes a moment to realize I would prefer to crouch down and photograph her.
My friend. She is sometimes in front of me, other times beside me, I adore her.
As a child I kept my position behind her, she was my babysitter and teacher of girlhood into young womanhood. A force that made life look creative and ever funny. A laugh followed almost any story or event. I was less frightened of growing beside her.
I am trying to remember when we parted ways, it was many years ago before I knew how it felt to be grown. Before life had thrown me into me, the bigger stories for one to act and react in.
Yet here I am, walking on a path behind her, invited to spend some days on her island after the loss of my father. She is just as strong and beautiful. Her laugh has etched only the smallest of lines on her tan face of kindness. My life’s laughing, (part of her legacy) has now added lines to mine as well. I enjoy them more, knowing who helped plant the seeds of my humor.
She is no longer my baby sitter, and I am no longer a child. Our age separation somehow disappeared, like two clouds becoming one. We look at each other and marvel as we share stories that parallel our lives from our islands across the world. Each nod of the head holds deep understanding of the other’s choices that hold pure love and admiration.
In times of loss, re- introductions are made. Asking you to open your history box and marvel at its jewels.
Our parents must be loving this!
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