Whenever I sew, I think of you.
Mending a pair of jeans this evening, I thought about when you learned to sew.
Your?art, and those skills, metamorphosed into the wings upon which your gift flies and has?for many years now.
I watched you leave the nest, testing fragile, tentative feathers, despite being smothered by a broken heart–topped with?disappointment from a door you wished had opened, but didn’t and wouldn’t.
You packed your own sunshine, and have carried it with you, wherever the journey has flown?you.
Whenever I think of you, I am joy.