I wasn't ready to receive the three zip-sealed bags you gave to me.

Your eyes reflecting intention and heartfelt affinity that your long-saved collection was essential for me to see. They held photos and artifacts of our story—not all, but mostly the best not the wounds, simply the rest.

These pieces of the whole, on my table for days, yesterday, today, and again I will tomorrow glimpse our togetherness in yesteryear's light.

My memory echoes top 40 songs from daily car rides, conversations, critiques, and jovial laughter, long silences, disconnect, and guilt trips soon thereafter.

My eyelids now flooded can scarcely contain the waves of our story nor the wisdom that remains.

Not even close no, not at all. Our narrative is far too vast for any container— eyelids, zip-sealed bags, galaxies or oceanic trenches of the seafloor.

Through time, we've danced together, apart, and through innumerable existences. I, headstrong at heart, believed it all so unforgettable, or so I thought. Because now, mostly, I remember joyful reunions and feeling faith in our love.

As I revisit these hand-selected memories, these three-zip-sealed bags of us, I find myself unclenching the woes, you know, the ones which every mother and daughter know.

This new light and renewed love intersect my intersecting diversity within —the child who remembers the bumpy road of individuation —the healer who navigates the graceful flight of forgiveness — and the woman who welcomes the haven of gentle hope.

At this threshold I leave my bags at the door knowing right where to find them, just in case.

Oh, but how delighted I am to find little to no use for containers of any kind. For anything worth holding fits well within my heart. These zip-sealed bags catalog the best of the best of the very best parts, giving new light to our story through the skylight of your heart.

I was not ready, but now, I gladly receive the photos and artifacts your hope preserved for me.

*revised 2024