Dear Ila,
I'm starting a new business. It is so very scary and I question myself at every turn. But I have a philosophy that keeps me moving along. I do one thing every day. Just one. Sometimes that means I complete an application to a health insurance company. Sometimes that means I write an email or make a phone call. It adds up. Doing one thing has allowed me to finish my degree. It has allowed me to set up my office, get my business license in place and make several important contacts. Doing one thing for 139 days makes a huge difference. At least it does for me.
I wonder if you took each day as it presented itself? I get caught up in tomorrow or yesterday. I forget to focus on today. I'm always trying to get a peek around the next bend. I don't know why I do that. I do know that requiring myself to keep a checklist, and complete one task at a time, has been a godsend.
I received several pictures of you from your daughter a few days ago. You had such a perfect, grandmotherly face. Even when you were young, you had the face of a seasoned, elderly woman. I wish you were still here. I wish I could ask you all of the burning questions I have. I wish I could hear the soft, assuring noises you used to make. The sweet "huh" sounds still ring in my ears. How did you manage to remain so constant and peaceful in the midst of the odds you faced? You seemed so unaffected by the shitstorm raging around you. Was it the Bible you read? The prayers you uttered?
Do you know that I still remember the only harsh word you ever spoke to me? I remember it because it was so unlike you. But it is a pleasant memory. Because even that harsh word was soft. My brother and I were playing out by the tree in your front yard. The one by the driveway. You needed our attention, or needed us to just be quiet. You yelled "hark!" We obeyed you, I hope. Even then the word you used seemed so "otherworldly." I vaguely remember my brother and I giggling later and making jokes about the herald angels singing. You seemed only capable of using such a word because you were an angel. It wasn't the only time I heard you use angel-speak. You whispered prayers and Bible verses so many times to me over the years. Many of those times we knelt beside your couch-bed and your murmurs filled every nook and cranny of your home, making it the safest place on earth.
I miss that feeling of unquestionable safety. I'm doing my best to replicate what you provided. I think my children feel the same way about me. At least I hope they do.
Until next time,
B
