Look Up
(Read the original post here.)
Seven years ago, my little sister, Sara, planned for the song "Father and Daughter" by Paul Simon to accompany her father-daughter wedding dance. For those unfamiliar with the song, the lyrics to the refrain are below:
I'm gonna watch you shine, gonna watch you grow.
Gonna paint a sign, so you'll always know.
As long as one and one is two, there could never be a
Father who loves his daughter more than I love you.
Click here to listen to the song. But get tissues first.
As Sara and my dad waited, arm in arm, to walk down the aisle, my dad reached into his pocket. When Sara looked down, my dad pulled out a small slip of paper on which he'd written "1 + 1 = 2".
Tears welled in both of their eyes, but because they were about to begin their walk, they looked at each other and reminded one another to "look up". Because when your eyes fill with tears and you look up, thanks to either an anatomical feature of the eyes or the grace of a higher power, you can often keep the tears from spilling over.
1 + 1 = 2 |
Look up. |
Whenever my mom, Sara, or I start to cry and need to slow our tears, we remind each other to look up.
I rarely sit at the counter in my kitchen, but last Wednesday morning I found myself perched on Will's stool at the counter, working on his birthday blog post.
As is often the case when I write about my kids - and is always the case when I write their birthday posts - emotion overwhelmed me, my eyes began to water, and my vision blurred. Without a tissue within reach, I fluttered my eyelids and looked up, hoping to slow the waterworks.
And when I looked up, the overwhelming longing I'd felt for my no-longer-little little boy disappeared. Because the ceiling above my boy's kitchen stool? The ceiling was COVERED with food.
Looking up may have worked for Sara and my dad, but the next time I need to slow the tears I think I'll just grab a tissue.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go clean my ceiling. Better yet, I need to go find my no-longer-little little boy and make him clean my ceiling.
As is often the case when I write about my kids - and is always the case when I write their birthday posts - emotion overwhelmed me, my eyes began to water, and my vision blurred. Without a tissue within reach, I fluttered my eyelids and looked up, hoping to slow the waterworks.
And when I looked up, the overwhelming longing I'd felt for my no-longer-little little boy disappeared. Because the ceiling above my boy's kitchen stool? The ceiling was COVERED with food.
Looking up may have worked for Sara and my dad, but the next time I need to slow the tears I think I'll just grab a tissue.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go clean my ceiling. Better yet, I need to go find my no-longer-little little boy and make him clean my ceiling.
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