I saw something that reminded me of you today,
It said,
‘What is your favorite memory?’ The first thing I thought of was you.
Not a specific time or place, just you
Your warmth
Your kindness
Your steel will
Your unbreakable backbone
Your hugs
Your bedtime stories
Your garden
How you would keep paints in your garage for me
How you would sneak me chocolate chips and cookies and extra biscuits
How you would let me sit in the front seat
How you would invite the neighbor kids over because “it's not healthy for a little girl to spend her summer with just an old woman.”
How we would play hide and seek in your garden
But most of all I remembered the arboretum,
Our walks there, how you would always indulge in the make-believe games I wanted to play, building fairy houses together, skipping rocks in the stream.
But I know it is likely I will never go back,
Not to the arboretum,
Or your house, although I guess it isn't yours anymore,
To the state fair
To swim lessons
To Irene’s house
To your church
To that Save a lot
To the waterpark, you would take me to
But most of all, I don't know if I can ever bear to go back to Virginia again,
no matter how hard the memories tug at me.
