Dear Little Angel,
Yesterday, while completing new requirements for the start of a new position with Sun Products, my new employer, I stopped at a downtown restaurant in the heart of Salt Lake to order lunch. As I approached the doors of the McDonald's store, I quickly recognized the building as the same one we had stopped at, only a few months ago to pickup lunch, the same day we had your blue-jean spica cast removed. After ordering my lunch, I found a quiet corner where the sun entered the building through the crystal clear windows, warming my shirt and hair. The restaurant was oddly quiet, with only a few patrons scattered about the tables, quietly talking, laughing and exchanging hellos as the sounds of Christmas softly played in the background. With little activity to capture my attention, I remained in my quiet corner table, slowly eating my meal, as my gaze caught sight of the table where our family had sat to share lunch to celebrate the removal of hopefully your final cast. Setting in the silence by myself, I easily pictured the events of that day. The crispness of the laughter as you and your older sister sat side-by-side playing with the small toys, retrieved from your Happy Meal box. The excitement created as we unveiled our plans to travel to the local city zoo to watch the animals. The directness of your voice as you explained to each new friend , your cast had been removed in your own words, "I got my cast off today! Now, we can go swimming!" Pondering the past soon brought small tears of joy to my eyes as a longing to be with my family deepened. Even though I had only been away from home a few short hours, I felt like I had traveled the globe over a long period of time. The short distance to home seemed oceans away.
Yesterday, while completing new requirements for the start of a new position with Sun Products, my new employer, I stopped at a downtown restaurant in the heart of Salt Lake to order lunch. As I approached the doors of the McDonald's store, I quickly recognized the building as the same one we had stopped at, only a few months ago to pickup lunch, the same day we had your blue-jean spica cast removed. After ordering my lunch, I found a quiet corner where the sun entered the building through the crystal clear windows, warming my shirt and hair. The restaurant was oddly quiet, with only a few patrons scattered about the tables, quietly talking, laughing and exchanging hellos as the sounds of Christmas softly played in the background. With little activity to capture my attention, I remained in my quiet corner table, slowly eating my meal, as my gaze caught sight of the table where our family had sat to share lunch to celebrate the removal of hopefully your final cast. Setting in the silence by myself, I easily pictured the events of that day. The crispness of the laughter as you and your older sister sat side-by-side playing with the small toys, retrieved from your Happy Meal box. The excitement created as we unveiled our plans to travel to the local city zoo to watch the animals. The directness of your voice as you explained to each new friend , your cast had been removed in your own words, "I got my cast off today! Now, we can go swimming!" Pondering the past soon brought small tears of joy to my eyes as a longing to be with my family deepened. Even though I had only been away from home a few short hours, I felt like I had traveled the globe over a long period of time. The short distance to home seemed oceans away.
These past few months have seen our lives return to the normal everyday activities found in every house. Children find time to complete homework, attend activities, do chores, and still find time to fight with each other over trivial things. Often times, in quiet moments, such as this, I come to the realization, who I am, how I perceive the world, and the value of family, for me have been changed forever. Tender moments, the sight of a laughing child, or time spend alone, fill my mind with shadows of days gone by as I now find great joy in seeing each of my children fill their time with great memories. The value of small simple things have increased exponentially. I now find myself struggling to capture every moment, record each success, and memorize every laugh of my children, so my future can be a reflection of these shadows of yesterday.
2 comments:
Such wonderful thoughts! I hope and pray that you hear good news in Feb. Hope you have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I wish we were closer so we could spend time together.
I hope you get good news in February, Trent. Thinking of your family!! I'm glad we have crossed paths even if DDH is the reason. Merry Christmas. :-)
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