Memories Out Loud

I was on the back of your 4-wheeler. The cone flowers were in full bloom as we rode through the meadow.

Magical.

I know what a Silver Maple is. You made sure of that. One is right outside my window now. Changing colors in your favorite season.

Beautiful.

It was so cold that November day, and the bull wouldn’t cooperate. You gave me the good pair of boots to wear in the thick mud. I got to test the fence for electricity.

Powerful.

And then, the baby calf that kept running away. We couldn’t catch it for a while. I snapped you holding it in your arms at dusk.

Victory.

Endless games of pool. Win some, lose some. All the while the jukebox kicking out the tunes we plugged in.

Party.

You said, “Nani, those are called widows.” Random corn stalks in a bean field. “What a perfect name,” I said.

Perfect.

We never caught anything at the fishing holes. I still don’t. But I love it.

Peaceful.

Weird hotels I booked us into. Haunted, seedy, and the one just 30 minutes from home.

Adventure.

The post-it notes, emails, texts, cards. I wanted to wrap all of them in a soft pink ribbon. Save them forever.

Forever.

Your Greek spice in butter for our ongoing supply of steaks.

Sharing.

The morning you drove down the highway, and I called. Tears on my face. You said, “Nani, do you want me to turn around.” “Yes.”

Commitment.

You’re gone.

But not really.

Memories.