I am not the epitome of luck, but I am the epitome of blessed.
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I Knew You Loved MeI knew you loved me when you first told my dad you were pregnant.
Together you prayed with excitement, wondering if you were bringing a boy or a girl into this world. I knew you loved me as you sacrificed your body to grow mine for 9 months. Through the morning sickness, full bladder, and waddling stages of growing me. I knew you loved me when you endured the pain of childbirth, still not knowing if I was a boy or girl. And I love that you were still deciding my name as you went into labor. I knew you loved me as you educated me. Every night you read books, taught us card games, and answered questions big and small about the universe and everything in it. I knew you loved me as you toted us miles around the country to explore. Somehow you made sure we were entertained in the car for hours upon hours before iPads and cell phones. I knew you loved me even when I rebelled and thought I knew best. You held our family together when my selfish actions wore us down. I knew you loved me when I finally embraced the path you raised me to walk. You celebrated my victories in faith, career, and relationships. I knew you loved me when I did all the things you hoped I would do. I knew you loved me when I did things you hoped I wouldn’t. I especially knew you loved me as you cared for me tenderly after my accident. You brushed glass from my hair, bathed and dressed me, bandaged me up, and gave me the permission to fall apart. And I’ll know forever, mama… I know you’ll love me until Kingdom come… 'Til the cows come home… And until my brother is better than us at Spoons.
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Today I turned 23. That means 22 and 365 days because 2021 is not a leap year.
Today I took a step into what I think it supposed to be the most developmental year of my life, but how can I say that looking back at the last 22? Like when I learned to crawl and stand and walk and run. And I don't necessarily remember who was there to watch me learn it, but those people make up the foundation of who I am as a 23-year-old. In the last year I have crawled on the ground with my first cousin's new son. I have stood up when I wanted to shrink back in misunderstanding or anger. I have walked miles around this country in various states with my dog in tow. And I've ran into the arms of people I love again and again. Like when I learned to love. Or at least, how to articulate it. I loved my first friends, I loved my first boy, and I learned what it meant love myself. In the last year I'm still loving, rather ferociously. I understand a deeper love for all of my friends. I am very in love with a wonderful boy. I've loved my family harder than ever, even extended family. And I have experienced so many corners of myself, that I absolutely love my guts. Even when they're not functioning properly. I'm at the age where making an effort makes the difference. Like when I picked up a camera for the first time. I learned how to start taking photos because I wanted to feel relevant. People love photos of themselves, particularly the ones they cannot take themselves. So when I was alone in a room, or at a sporting event, if I had my camera, I was capturing the memories. And then I was relevant. In the last year I have taken more photos than I can count, but not to feel relevant. I've taken more photos because I love the feeling of capturing those memories. I'm a historian for my people, for my job, for my own life. Like when I learned to ride a bike. It's amazing to think I don't even have a pedal bike anymore. Although my motorcycle is a pretty sweet alternative. But I do still have all of the scrapes and scars from falling off of my childhood bike, and busting my butt on the fastest rollerblades North Louisiana has ever seen. In the past year, I don't think I've touched my motorcycle. But I do recognize a lot of metaphors for life and bicycles. For instance sometimes when you start slowing down, you simply fall over. But even when you're scared, you kind've have to speed up sometimes to keep the whole thing in motion and upright. Like when I learned to make memories. It is no secret to any of my friends or family, that the person I credit most for teaching me to make memories is my Papa. And I still wear this hummingbird around my neck every single day to remind me of him, and how he's not really gone. Never will be. Small disclaimer: every time I write about him, I have to take a breather to cry. *brief intermission* in the past year, I've been so proud of the memories I've made. And they've made me. I can't help but wonder – well truthfully I know, just how proud he is of me for doing that. Going into 23, I still live at home and I don't have much money, but I have so many memories that make me feel like the wealthiest girl in the world. Every year on my birthday, I reflect on my mistakes and victories. I think of who I could've loved better, reached out to more, and given an extra call to. I think of how to better invest in myself for the year to come. I'll be honest, this is probably the best reflection year I've ever had. I am overwhelmed with the joy that's accumulated in me. If you've read this far, you probably contributed to some of that. I cannot thank you enough. Today I turned 23. Which is 22 and 365 days because 2021 is not a leap year. Today I took a step into what I think it supposed to be the most developmental year of my life, but how can I say that looking back at the last 22 AND 365 days. |