Five words he spoke that day; a sacred seed planted in her fertile trusting heart:
"You'll remember the important stuff."
Five years old (maybe younger), she cast her line as far as her tiny arms would allow with hummingbird heartbeat and wild eyes.
"Watch the water and remember to breathe."
I exhale.
In the backyard, fresh home from school; books and bags thrown on the floor; already Houdinied outside before the chance to be told otherwise. Bow and arrows with multi colored feathers fill the quiver.
"Steady now. Aim for the target. And let it fly."
I trust.
Hot summer, Southern days filled with acoustic vibrations, lightning bugs, and camp fires glowing long past the sun.
"Take your shoes off. Stay awhile. Put your feet in the dirt."
I am hOMe.
Driving away; Rockies in the rear view pitched against the electric Colorado blue. Tears streaming like the mountain streams that had quenched my thirst all week.
"Those mountains are a part of you and you of them."
We are One.
Sitting at the kitchen table; my decision has been made. This is a knowing in my bones. Eyes hold back tears. The mountains are calling. You taught me to listen. I must go.
"Hold those you love close and empower them to fly."
I can.
Every day he wakes and decides that it's going to be a good day. Every soul who is blessed to be in his presence is touched; their existence is altered. He moves through his days with passionate peace; with intention and presence; with energy ineffable.
He is my Daddy (no matter how old).
He SHOWS me the important stuff.
(and I remember)