 Letter on the Fridge from my Freckles in Officer Candidate School, Jan. 2016 Those tiny little phonemes, strung together in magical ways to create words...on a page, in an email, handwritten in a letter (which is one of my personal favorites), they are so very powerful. I leaned against the counter yesterday evening as I waited for dinner to finish cooking, my nose in a book that I'm completely captivated by, when my husband walked in the back door. "Hey, hey, good lookin'," he said and came to hug me hello. He took the book from me. "You're going to want to read this instead," he told me, then kissed the tip of my nose. My hands trembled as I held the letter from my child, biting back tears even before I had opened it. Greedy for her words, everything around me fell away. Her first comments made me laugh, addressing me as Mama Bear and then calling me out on addressing her in my last letter as "My beautiful Freckles". She IS! Few have ever been able to resist those glorious dots on her lovely face, least of all me! I brushed fingertips over words that came from her hand and read them over and over. She positively vibrates with energy and excitement in ink on a page. I want to scoop her up and kiss her freckled-face until she giggles, even though she's too "grown-up" for that silliness (at least per her assessment of such things). When I handed the letter over to her father to read, it was SO difficult letting it out of my hands. I kid you not when I confess I wanted to take it with me to bed and snuggle it in an attempt to send positive Mama vibes across time and space to wrap around that sassy girl of mine. It has been five days since I last spilled my words here. I apologize for the delay, but they have been clogged in a sea of emotions as all of these major changes unfold, some I've discussed, others I'm keeping close to the vest for now. I have looked back today over words YOU have shared with me and I hope all of you know just how much joy you bring me. My Tribe, my people, my family...my heart. For a little girl who almost always felt so utterly alone, it is the most precious gift.  See why I call her Freckles?
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About The Author
I grew up in rural North Carolina. When I was only nineteen, I moved away and became a military wife. My only aspiration at that tender time in my life was to create an adult life that "fixed" all of the "injustices" of my childhood. Secretly, however, I wanted to reach for the sky! I wanted to be a writer and find ways to "save the world" (my mother used to say, "You have Save the World Syndrome".). Mostly, I wanted to matter. Archives
November 2018
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