During the late '90s and early 2000s, my grandma filled her Happiness File with things that made her smile (quotes, inspirational ideas, and even advice)—so that even on her toughest days, she'd find something good to focus on. Now that she's gone and I'm fighting cancer, her words have become lifelines from Heaven.
Anyway, the other morning, I gingerly pulled one of the many index cards from the file and quietly read my grandma's words: "Raise children who are self-sufficient and not too dependent on others." This seemed like perfect timing in my life because my 20-year-old, Sky, recently moved to Long Beach, California. Although I've been happy for her, there are days when I feel really sick and I miss just having her comforting presence here.
She's such an extraordinary, fun kid, and when she lived with us, I'd often hear her singing in the basement. Her passion for music is actually what inspired her to move to Long Beach, a perfect place to pursue a singing career. It's been pretty incredible to watch her grow, but now, during the mornings when it would normally just be me and Sky at home, my house is quiet. Lonely. Different...
I pulled up my phone, and tears filled my eyes as I scrolled through pictures of my family. I've been fighting so hard to live, wanting to watch my kids grow up, but now that I'm here—at least with my two oldest children being adults—it's bittersweet.
As I scrolled through pictures the other day, zooming in on Sky's sweet face, her bright blue eyes, and gentle smile captivated me even through the screen. That's when I suddenly heard someone's voice drifting through the house. I strained to listen and realized it was... Sky! Her perfect song echoed around me, soft and emotional, each note a delicate whisper that pulled at my heart.
"Sky?" I got out of bed, entranced by her words. "Sky?" I called, wondering if she'd come to visit.
I followed the voice until it led to where my husband sat at the kitchen table, listening to a video of Sky singing. Tears filled his eyes.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said, wiping his eyes. "Sorry. I thought you were resting."
I shook my head and placed a hand on one of his strong shoulders. "You miss her too," I whispered, watching her sing on his phone's screen. I took a deep breath and sat down next to him. "You know, I was just looking at pictures of the kids, and we must've been thinking the same thing." I paused, and he looked up at me. "When Sky lived at home, listening to her always made the day somehow better."
Mike and I stood after a moment, and we hugged each other so tightly. Not long after that, when Mike went onto the back deck, I called Sky. "I was missing you so much," I said, and then explained how Mike had been listening to one of her songs.
She thought the timing was amazing. "I needed to hear that, Mama. You two give me the courage to believe in myself." She paused, and then I realized she'd begun crying on the other end of the line. "Mama," she said, "thank you for telling me to come out here. I love it—every minute—but I miss you guys so much. Being out on my own, I've realized so much." She took a deep breath. "I hope you guys know how much I appreciate… everything. I'm so proud you're my parents."
"And we're so proud of you." Loving to see her go after her dreams.
When I got off the phone, I thought about how sometimes the hardest things are the most rewarding. Families don't need to fit into a box, and neither does love. We're all just doing what we can to get through this life together, and as long as love is in the forefront, that's what matters the most.
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