How Could I Freeze Like That?
When you asked “Do you love me? Why?” There is so much I didn’t say. Pretty much all of it. How could I freeze like that? Offer a lame “Yes, you know I do”? Especially when it’s a recurring question. Maybe I don’t believe you’re asking seriously. Maybe I’m ashamed you have to ask. Of course, I love you. I am not whole without you. I try to convey this in vague generalities. So let me try again. I love The way toddler you would run up to any stranger and give them the warmest hug. The way you still say “that’s mean” if your mom or I get snarky about anyone. The way you sit down next to the kid sitting alone and invite your popular friends to join. The Dadaesque sense of humor behind “potato sandwich,” and your other so-called jokes. The confidence of “I can do that,” whether that’s kindergartener you taking the violin from the teacher the first time you saw it or writing a song after hearing David Bowie or making a short film on your iPad after watching Miyazaki. You absolutely can’t do that, but you try. The way seven-year-old you sincerely, naïvely, wisely asked your pastor mamaw, “How do we know we haven’t made it all up?” There’s so much. It’s all of these things. And it’s none of them. I love the you-ness of Rosemary June Leila Regan-Porter. It’s always changing, always surprising, sometimes frustrating. I hope you read this someday. I don’t know that my praise will get better, more specific. I hope you know even so my love will always be right here wherever you are whoever you become.
I did get to read this to Rose last week when they were at a low point. About a quarter of the way through: “I don’t get poetry.”
At the end, a spontaneous hug.
That alone makes this whole project worth it.
If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you. A comment, a share, or even just a like goes a long way. Writing into the void is its own practice, but knowing the work lands makes it easier to keep showing up.