Remember This

He walks in to the kitchen and asks for music. He wants to dance with mama in the kitchen. I turn the stove off and the radio on. His hands find mine as he tilts his head to the side and begins to move his feet. He laughs. And we dance. I say to myself, remember this.

She waddles in to the living room and takes the clothes out of the laundry basket, leaving little piles of clean clothes on the rug. I bend to clean up and she giggles, climbing into my lap. She wants to cuddle with mama on the couch. I leave the clothes on the rug to pick her up instead. And we cuddle. I beg myself to remember this.

He comes home from a long day of hard work and kisses his wife. I have been on his mind all day and he on mine. It feeds my soul something sweet that he seeks me out when he enters our home. We are finding our groove. Everyday the groove gets better. I want to always groove with this man. He looks at me with a love that no man has ever given me before. His tired body leans into mine. I give him my arms as a refuge as I will these arms to remember this.

She walks beside me through the halls of the nursing home. We enter the room that is now the home of the man that taught her life. His eyes register recognition with the love that only a father can give. I watch as my mother feeds him, embraces him, talks to him. Even when he can’t eat, can’t hold her back, can’t remember the stories she tells. She is there. She is his. The world has asked so much of her. Taken so much of her strength. And she has given it willingly. Again and again I see her give her strength away. And now I watch her as she cares for this man that needs her. And I tell my heart to remember this.

He lays in bed accepting her care. Breathing words slowly. Does he remember the strong man he once was? Does he remember his granddaughters playing with wooden blocks on his living room floor? Does he remember his life as we go about ours? I sit on his bed and take his hand. His great-grandaughter is on my lap blowing him kisses. She will never know the man I knew. He takes my hand and brings it to his lips, leaving the love of a kiss on the tips of my fingers. Dear God, let me remember this.

This life. This beautiful life. Remember this.

This post was written in response to Sarah Bessey’s post, “In which we are saved, right now {a synchroblog}“. These remember this moments are what save my life. From hurt. From chaos. From others. From myself. Remember this.

What is saving you?

The Unfortunate Incident of Ink in the Summertime

Thirteen years ago I walked into a tattoo shop looking for the perfect Chinese symbol to emblazon on my back. I have no roots in anything Chinese. I mean, I like their food, but I don’t think that counts. I was drawn to a philosophical Chinese symbol in 1999 for the same reason I was drawn to the sun that ended up on my lower back in 1997. It was THE THING TO DO. People were speaking Chinese through ink everywhere. All I needed was someone to suggest I join the masses and into the tattoo shop I went.

I chose the symbol pictured above for the phrase “to live” and felt so deep with my choice.  What does it mean “to live”? Something different to everyone. Something different every day, perhaps. It certainly meant something very different to the girl that walked into the tattoo shop that summer day than it does to the woman that still wears that symbol between her shoulder blades. I walked out that day into the sun ready to live my life by my rules. I was no conformist. I was going to remind myself every day to live and let live. Pave my own path. Which all sounds so bold to an experimental 19 year-old, until you look in any direction and see all the other deep, philosophical peeps walking around with Chinese symbols circa the late 1990’s. We were no conformists, indeed. Except to each other.

Fast-forward five years to me sitting in a doctor’s office for a physical. The Doc walked in and went through the normal questions then moves to my bare back to listen to my breathing. After listening for a minute, she says, “Oh, you have Chinese on your back. I’m from China. Do you know what this says?”

Uh, of course I do. The tattoo guy on the beach told me what it meant. As soon as I said “tattoo guy on the beach” I knew this conversation wasn’t leading anywhere good. You’ve heard the joke about the people walking around with “dumb white kid” inked on their bodies in Asian script? Well, it’s not quite that bad but it might as well be. I cringed as I told her it was supposed to mean “to live”, in the philosophical sense, then asked her to enlighten me to what she read it to say.

Her response: Well, it does say “live” but there are many symbols for the different ways we use each word. In your case, this is the symbol for “I live at”, so it should be followed by your address.

Oh. Em. Gee. Dumb white kid, indeed.

So, having lived in four different places since this unfortunate incident of ink in the summertime, this is what my back should actually look like:

There you go. Have a laugh. After letting it sink in for 8 years I can handle it.

Contemplations of a Babe

The contemplations
Of life are many.
We wonder
Who we are
Why we are
What we are.
I hope
Your contemplations lead you
To a place of surety.
Sure of who you are
Ellis Ann, mama’s girl.
Sure of why you are
Love. Because of love.
Sure of what you are
Beautiful, wise, caring. More than words can provide.
Your contemplations will be many.
Let your insecurities be few.
Contemplate the who, why, what but
Always come back to
You, because of love, my beautiful girl.