no words

On Friday evening, I attended the viewing of a coworker's husband.  Upon arrival to the funeral home, I immediately spotted the line of mourners wrapped around the great room almost right up to the door -- and was struck by how eerily familiar it was to the receiving line at a wedding, though obviously somber in mood.  My coworkers and I huddled closely together, admiring the photos and personal belongings of the deceased, inching our way toward the family.  As we grew nearer, I found myself nervous and awkward, never one at ease with small talk and social niceties.

When it was my turn, I hugged my coworker, hoping that I could show, rather than say, how terribly sorry I was.  They had been married for 46 years, and I couldn't find a way to express that I wasn't equipped to understand the tiniest bit of how she must feel.  She introduced me to her daughter and we shook hands.  When I reached her son-in-law, I found myself babbling absentmindedly with a reflexive, "Nice to meet you..." before realizing and following up with an uncomfortable, "Well, under the circumstances."  By the time I reached her son, I told him how sorry I was, but he wouldn't make eye contact, so I was just left with a feeling of utter inadequacy.

The thing is, it pains me when words fail me in times that I want them to matter.  I struggle to vocalize what I want to say, when I want to say it, because words... They’ve always been meaningful to me somehow.

I drove home thinking about what I would have said if I had a second chance.  Maybe I would have repeated my name to the family, for starters.  Talked about how I knew my coworker, how much she's taught and helped me over the years.  Maybe I would have said I would pray for them or keep them in my thoughts.  And maybe none of it would have mattered anyway.

When I came home, I found my daughter and husband snuggled on the couch together, and thanked God that He gave us another day.  I hugged her, relieved, that I didn't need any words to show her how much I love her.  I read her a bedtime story, stroked her face and her hair, marveled for probably the thousandth time how she was here, warm and soft, and was comforted thinking of her musical laugh and the sound of her sweet words: "I love you, Mommy.  I love you, too."

two fancy

My dear Sophia,

Happy 2nd birthday, sweetie!

Today we are exploring Jim Thorpe to celebrate your birthday with a train ride and some ice cream.  It's raining, but you don't seem to mind at all -- you can always make the best out of every situation -- turn a crappy weather day around with your sunny disposition, find wonder and amusement in a new and different place.

While thinking about what I wanted to tell you today, it reminded me of this quote in the movie, The Help, which is actually based on the novel of the same name by Kathryn Stockett.  (Please read it one day).  In the movie, a slave/nanny named Aibileen tells the little girl she's raising over and over, "You is kind.  You is smart. You is important."  She says this because the girl's mother and mistreats and abuses her, and so Aibileen wants to remind her she is loved.

So today I want to tell you that you are quite amazing for a two-year-old.  Here are just a few reasons why...

You are kind.  You are sweet and tenderhearted.  I can't even count the number of times your teachers have expressed how you comfort others, hugging and kissing your friends when they're upset or crying.  You've always been very in tune with emotion since before you could speak, and will offer a hand or a warm gesture to anyone who needs it.  You love hugging all your family members, especially Bianca.  You can recognize when someone is smaller than you and will be gentle with them.  When you're mistreated, you won't fight or display anger; instead, you'll stay calm and collected.  Even with your mischievous streak, you can discern what's right and wrong and how people should be treated.

You are bright.  You have the absolute best smile -- it brightens up the room!  Your energy and joy is apparent in everything you do.  And beyond that, you're intuitive.  I know it's normal to be a sponge at this age, but the way you piece things together, your patience for building and constructing, figuring out how things work, and not forgetting a thing, is special.  You've always been able to sit quietly, absorbing a book, and these days we could read 20-30 books to you (at a minimum) and you'll ask for more.  I love watching your mind churning, and now that you're able to communicate with us, you're teaching us to see and notice things we may not have stopped to consider otherwise.

You are fun.  What an adventurous spirit!  I like that you will try everything at least once.  You're spontaenous and brave.  You can take everyday things and make them extraordinary.  You're imaginative and create games out of tupperware and mixing bowls, spices, and pot lids.  You enjoy peekaboo, whether it's pulling a blanket off your head or jumping out from behind a closet.  You run, and dance, play piano, and sing (lately it's Row, Row, Row, Your Boat).  You talk to your toys, stuffed animals, and babydoll, and will carry them with you wherever you're going.

You are loved.  You are so incredibly loved.  You talk about your family all the time, sometimes in your sleep!  Mommy and Daddy, Big Poppy and Mu, Nai-Nai and Yeh-Yeh, aunties Rach, Sarah, and Jana, Nan... the list goes on and on.  There are so many people in your life that love and care for you, and always, always remember that.

Here is to another year in your journey, and wishing you so many more laughs and adventures along the way.

Love,

Mommy