I want to remember that I was hungry so that I never forget to say thank you over a meal, an orange, a bag of popcorn, a sliced cucumber, just picked strawberries from the garden, a gift of Christmas cookies.
I want to remember that I was confused and lost and yet I found my way. I learned to ask for help. I learned that I am not alone. Let me never forget that where I belong is exactly where I am.
I want to remember that I was cold so I will bless the sun, the heat, the hot water, hot pad, blankets on a bed, a shawl around my shoulder.
I want to remember that I was exhausted and let my body stretch and release into corpse pose while my breath rose and fell in a rhythm of contentment.
I want to remember that the grief threatened to carry me over the edge where I could not unfold my wings scorched and blackened from the burning of my child’s body into ash. The edge between madness and the ability to carry on, the dance between oblivion and love and feeling that one more day in such pain was impossible. And yet I walked step by step and took one more breath and felt my heart take one more beat while the wings were repaired by the loving hands of friends and angels and my own determined self.
I want to remember that I was terrified and did it anyway. That I was angry and choose words instead of a fist. That I was betrayed and learned forgiveness. That I was a stranger and a seeker and found home wherever I could light a candle, say a prayer, learn a name. I want to remember that I stood in darkness in order to adore the light that I stood in silence in order to find my voice.
I want to remember my tears and the way they brought me salt.