September 30, 2014
If I imagine you speaking, imagine you loving me through this, you would tell me so much. You'd continuing telling me things until the tears dried up and the smile returned to my face. You'd tell me things again and again until I heard you. Until I believed them to be true. Good things. Things that would make me breathe so deeply that I could feel every inch of my lungs fill up. If I imagine you speaking, imagine you loving me through this, you would tell me so much.
The funny thing is that everything I imagine you would say to me, every single word you'd say to love me through this, I was able to hear you say when you were alive. How did I know to let those words create grooves in a record I would play time and time again after you left? Sometimes it's not even a conscious choice. Sometimes you are just there, in my head, playing my favorite tunes. When I start to judge myself, your voice is there. When I doubt I can do this, your voice is there. When I feel lazy, unattractive, out of shape, your voice is there. When I take the criticisms of others too personally, your voice is there.
You've given me the kindest, gentlest way to care for myself that I can think of. You've given words, in the voice of the man I love, to remind me that I can do this. That I am beautiful. That I mean something. The record is set to play always. And if I forget to place the needle upon it and take everything I hear in, you seem to do it for me. These, the sweet sounds of encouragement that I was so lucky to hear you tell me when you were here:
When I don't think I can do it anymore:
You are a spiritual warrior, babe. You've got this.
When I wake up feeling less than beautiful:
YOU are hands-down, the sexiest woman I've ever met.
You want an ice-cream? Have 10. Seriously. You could gain 50 pounds and still be attractive to me.
When I just need to be comforted:
I hate seeing you in pain. I wish there were something I could do to make this go away.
You deserve someone to cook for you. Seriously, babe. You just sit there looking beautiful. I'm going to cook dinner for you.
A cup of tea is medicinal! Want some English Breakfast?
When I need motivation to get out there and run:
The fact that you run is sexy to me. You, babe. You are a runner. I'll see you when you get back.
When I'm second-guessing my abilities:
I love to watch you teach. You're a great teacher. You're just good at it! They're lucky to have you.
You're a great listener. Really. I've heard you talk to people on the phone. You're solid.
When someone says something unkind to/about me:
Bitches! That's what, babe. If someone isn't down with you, they're bitches. You don't want bitches for friends, anyway, right? Right, babe?
When I forget how much my connection to God means:
I want the kind of God that you have. I want that relationship. I like the way you talk to your God.
When I forget I am made from joy:
I love how we play! You're not afraid to be a kid. You're an artist. All of life is performance art to you, and I love that.
So many things bring you joy. I love to watch your joy explode. Ignite your joy. If anyone doesn't know what joy is, they should just watch you around some puppies.
Here. You need this. This little fuzzy animal key chain is saying, "I want to go home with Bridget!"
And your voice, these words, they were never intended to convince me of something I didn't believe about myself. They were to remind me of what I already knew. They were a reflection back to myself of what took me years to believe. That I am beautiful. That I am connected. That I mean something. Your words encourage me not to forget.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
No comments:
Post a Comment