Beams of white light shine decisively through an ominous grey, cloudy sky over snow covered mountains. In the foreground, there is a gray structure on the plains.

Let us prepare for the unthinkable, speak of the unmentionable...

“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable.”

-Fred Rogers

How does a mother ready her children for an unspeakable horror?

Though it was nearly impossible to bear, words flowed, and with them…

Grave recognition.
Exquisite tenderness.
Guttural anguish.
Poignant gratitude.
Tears.

I cannot protect them. But, this…this, I can do. This I will do…

With all that I am and all that I have, I will deposit love into a time-release capsule. I will top off each glass with the living water of presence. 1

There will be an icon-making party.

Every guest gets a paintbrush to dip into their life force — its colors and flavors, fragrances and melodies, textures and dreams.

We’ll spread out family photos on every surface to recall still-living artifacts of memory. We will laugh so hard that we cry. I will wheeze and slap my knee, just like my dad.

We’ll talk about finding our way, making it through what we thought would be the death of us, and how we wouldn’t give any of it back if we could. We will lament how quickly time passes, whisper regrets, and dare to speak of what our hearts really want. We will pass out tissues and swallow lumps in our throats. There will be reverent witness and lots of hugs.

At the end of the night, I will stand firm on shaky legs and say what I must.

I will look into their eyes and take my time getting the words out. My voice will crack, but they will see that I really believe this will work.

Maybe, just maybe, they can believe it, too.

My loves, drink these words.
Bind them around your neck.
Write them on the tablet of your heart.

On a white table, there is a tiny brown envelope. On top is a heart-shaped rock in shades of gray. It has cracks through it, but it is very strong.

LETTER #1 | For Homesickness & Hunger

It’s a collage, cause that’s how I roll.

The ache of not knowing if
you’ll ever be home again is overtaking you.
A sob is rising that you cannot dare
let slip through your lips.

It’s true, you cannot come home now,
but for a moment,
let home come to you.

There’s a new welcome mat at the front door
that says: “So happy you’re here.”
What it is like as you reach for the door and
sense the warmth of
every good thing that has ever been home to you
right there on the other side?

Set any lingering heartache
still connected to home down
right here, next to the keys.
There is no risk of losing what you
aren’t ready to let go of.

Here, on the underside of time,
minutes melt into
whatever depth of time you need to
come alive again.

LISTEN.

There is a song in the air. “On The Nature of Daylight” is always my go to.

Richter makes an audacious choice.
He tunes these players
to the key of respite
instead of rescue.

There’s a moment near the end where
the tiniest violin pierces the darkness, and
I catch a glimpse of hope.

There is sweat on hope’s brow as he
bears a weight that
no one is sure
won’t crush him,
but when he looks my way,
there is still a twinkle in his eye.

The sensation of
TOTAL CELLULAR UNITY
flows through me.

Your turn! Which song did you put in the queue?

There is time to clean up
and privacy to take care of
what should never have to be public.
The shower is clean, the toilet paper restocked. I
just pulled the towels out of the dryer.
Take all the time you need.

There’s a t-shirt in the closet from a show
that changed your life.
What was the name of the band again?
If you close your eyes, can you go back there?

The Band Joseph at The Moore Theatre

When you are ready for company,
summon your people one by one.
Stretch out your arms and
feel them reach for you.
Hug for at least one minute.
Breathe together.
There will be an instant between
the anticipation and the softening.

Tune into this moment.

A black and white photo of a dad hugging a daughter. We see her from behind, dressed in black, wearbubg a light canvas backpack. We see the dad's face with a big smile looking to the left. His arm is around her neck.

Come look out the window.

Tell me...
What is the furthest thing you see.
What is the closest?

A view from a deck of falling snow on grass and trees. There is a bench in the center of the photo facing away from the deck. In the background the far view is obstructed by a very light gray sky.

You may now request your favorite meal! The sky’s the limit, so don’t be shy.

I’ll go first, so you know I really mean it.
Here’s what’s being served in
my memory’s kitchen today...

-Brown butter mashed potatoes
-Roasted, carmelized brussel sprouts with rosemary, sprinkled with toasted pepitas and parmesan cheese
-A sparkling raspberry mocktail like Mallory made at Thanksgiving last year, crafted with love and attention - they look as delicious as they taste
-Sam's banana pudding ice cream with hot fudge

Since there are no limits, I’ll have a double-double, animal-style, too.
What’s on your menu?

Tell me every mouthwatering detail.

A cheeseburger with with one bite taken is held by a left hand over a red plastic tray on a white table.

There will be a moment when you realize you cannot stay here. A moment when the ache for home rises.

No other human can take away the reality of your hunger, this ache, or the vibrancy of your aliveness. That will not stop them from trying.

All of this is yours to carry in the secret place.

Hold on, my loves.

Mom

My loves, drink these words.