This morning I’m sitting with Johnny Cash and a mug of green tea. I’m twelve years old and nervous as all hell. Kids just know and I knew I wanted nothing more than to help her out – even just a little. I’m wearing blue jeans that fit too tight and a free perm. The kitchen is a mix of wallpaper and soft butter-yellow paint. I look out at nothing and dream of far off days, of going to Jackson in a pair of blue jeans and her, completely free.
Looking back I wonder if she ever stood in that same spot and dreamed of having no responsibilities, of travelling the world, of life without us.
Peace is knowing I wouldn’t trade any one of my tomorrows for just one yesterday. Cash leads me by the heart back to days when she spent more money on music than she had. Ricky Skaggs, Conway Twitty, Dwight Yoakam, Dolly Parton all people in my past.
This morning, yellow is a finch. My aunt remains in critical care and I hope our children look back on days when music filled their hearts and know they were always on our mind.
Joyce Maynard said, “It’s not only children who grow. Parents do too. As much as we watch to see what our children do with their lives, they are watching us to see what we do with ours. I can’t tell my children to reach for the sun. All I can do is reach for it, myself.”
Last night, laying beneath the stars with autumn on the horizon and cool in the air, I thought about how cyclical life is. How it repeats. We have more things and more technology. The world is more global, our reach is farther, our loyalty less. And I think about her and where she never went.
I am ready for routine and to have my office back. I am eager to regain mindfulness and listen to the sounds of a guitar. I can see that girl in her blue jeans and am in awe at her growth.
And I hope she goes far.