It’s been hard for me to express how I feel without sounding schmaltzy. And as hard as I try, I don’t think I can--not sound schmaltzy, that is. Maybe that’s why it’ll fit perfectly here in Imperfect Prose. Okay, deep breath; here it goes:
The night at the Chinese restaurant, when you cracked open your cookie and smilingly read the slip of paper aloud. “I’m keeping this one,” you said. I don’t think you know how much that meant to me. I had to sip my tea so as not to get teary. And when again, you pulled that same slip of paper out of your pocket on the way to the airport, and said, “I’m going to frame it.” It made the parting less painful.
Those late night mother-daughter
Old married lady, new married lady,
Sometimes with tears, but mostly hugs and laughter; I’m thankful for every minute, proud of the woman you’ve become, healed in giving what I wished I had had.
I am most fortunate, and God, who keeps His promises, is good.
Joining Emily today