I found an old thank you note in the piano bench today. A note that was never sent. It was thanking my piano student for Madelynn's new baby outfit and was signed, "Jennifer, Shawn, Jordan & Maddi."
How odd to see all four names together written as if they were in the present tense, but reading them in the past tense. An old forgotten thank you that was never delivered. Probably because I stopped teaching piano lessons after he died. Like many other things, the note got shoved in between the chaos of grief and eventually forgotten about until today.
Time feels so long.
"Like 100 days," Maddi says to express long periods of time.
She was talking about her grandpa the other day and said, "When my papa goes to work, he doesn't come home until a long time–really long–like 100 days."
Ten hours to Madelynn is the same as 100 days. Time feels so long.
There is a promise that we will one day be reunited. Time feels so long.
Maybe it's the same idea as a child waiting for Christmas. Time feels so long.
The heart remembers as if it were yesterday. An old note can erase four years into a day. The holidays approach, but there isn't a day out of the year I could ever forget. Time feels so long when we miss those we love.
