A birthday post
It’s been three years since I challenged myself to reach out to people on their birthdays and let them know the impressions they made on my life. The impetus was watching my youngest board the School Bus for the first time on his way to kindergarten and having a moment not as much of “what if it’s the last time I see him?” But “what if he really doesn’t understand what he means to me? What if I’ve done an insufficient job of using the right words to communicate with him? What if there are things I still haven’t said?” I was pretty sure there were people in my life who meant something to me, or who had made a seriously important impression as far as I was concerned, who would never otherwise know if I didn’t share it with them. And so I wanted to try to shift my behavior…
I MAILED those birthday cards. I told you I had fallen behind a few weeks before yours and never mailed yours. I’m sure there’s some truth to that. But I may or may not have also chickened out before writing yours and putting it in the mailbox. I know we say it’s for the best, now, but would you believe I still regret not doing that for you? At the beginning of the week I thought about going ahead and doing it this time. I thought better of it. You’re welcome. ;-)
None the less, I decided to take a look at what I had written you 3 years ago, and update it. Because Lord knows we’ve come quite a way since then.
Oy, was it woefully inadequate. You deserved so much more from me, even then. And since I think you’ve deleted the first letter, anyway, ;-) I get to do exactly what I set out to do a week ago: update your birthday letter from three years ago.
(BREATHE…talking to myself, here…) Oh my gosh, so cute. That was in the original letter. I still have such a school girl crush on you. Like, *ding* GASP “Is it him? Was he thinking of me? Is there something he wanted to tell me?”
I don’t think you sat across from me in Mr. Armstrong’s English class. I think we were kind of kitty corner. Me in the corner, near the windows, you near Mr. Armstrong. Kind of. Right? Also cute, me pretending not to know exactly where you sat, where your flavor(s) of the month sat, the route you had to take around the room the day you walked over to crouch by my desk and ask, “Are you mad at me?” “I dunno. Did you do something wrong?” Because I realized “Yes! I love you and you barely even know my name!” probably didn’t make so much sense… nor did it warrant my actually being mad at you.
Anyway, you introduced me to country music then. Not really. But I probably made some snarky comment about it and you pointed out that a current, popular song was, in fact country. k.d. Lang? Does that even made sense? You weren’t angry and you weren’t condescending; you were the gentlest version of stern. “That song everyone’s listening to? THAT’S country.” It was the same tone of voice you looked at me with :-) the other day *in my head* when I told you the bus was late but it seemed like nice weather to run to physical therapy in… So I walked.
I told you how Kristen and I went to one of Kyle’s hockey games and my heart skipped a beat when I saw you from across the rink. Okay, I may have skipped that part…But boy was I smitten when you came over (Could that really have happened?!) and promised to explain anything I didn’t understand. Okay maybe you were flirting. Because dude! I was sitting with an ice hockey player!
I worked up the guts three years ago to tell you you were a highlight of my senior year. Then I closed your birthday letter by telling you I looked forward to being able to keep track of you (pretty sure that’s Ann speak for “stalk”) and continuing to be in touch… how could I possibly even fabricate a fantasy where you would play such a major role in my life today? I can’t pretend it’s all hearts and flowers –I still walk with the fear that one day you’ll turn the lights off again. And you know I’m afraid of the dark. But you make my everything feel warm and my heart sing.
You wrote me recently. You told me things I needed to hear about ME. They still make me cry not only because they’re hard to believe but because I don’t understand them. But, if I could be selfish, my hope for ME for this year, is that you keep trying to help me understand. I can’t do what I do when I don’t understand…one might argue that means I can’t do what I do without you. That’s the kind of talk that makes me nervous you’re going to disappear so I couldn’t possibly confirm that. Because when I said “I don’t deserve that,” I meant “I don’t deserve YOU.”
This is waaaay longer than I consider to be a good idea. So I guess for now…