27. My Life – Envisioned By Me

It’s a warm August morning. The sun is passing over the horizon, turning the purple haze to a soft blue. Its rays peek through our curtains and a soft breeze brushes the light fabric.
In a few minutes I will set my feet on the hardwood floor and begin preparation for another day, but for right now I let my body stay wrapped in the cotton sheets. The smooth linen strokes my aging skin as I watch his chest rise and fall, listening to his not so soft snore.
I study his face, just like I have every morning I’ve woke next to him. The texture of his skin is embedded in my mind for all eternity. The features of his handsome face etched in the stone tablets of my memory.
As I turn and let my toes touch the cold wood I glance at the first photo we took together, now over 20 years old. Making my way through the dimly lit hallway I take a second to peek through the crack of her door, stealing a quick look to see her sleeping just as soundly as her father. I continue my journey through the living room.
The photos on the wall tell the story of a family. Two people sharing moments against various backdrops. A man in cap and gown, graduating from med school. A woman holding her first published book. A little girl growing from toddler to teenager to adult.
I make my way to the garage door, a ritual I complete at least once a week. I open the garage door and peer past my everyday car to my baby. I’ve poured my sweat and blood (literally) into her. Her black coat shines in the morning light coming through the east facing windows. I step up to her and run my fingers along her curves and edges. She’s definitely real, definitely not a dream. Once I’ve confirmed this, I half walk, half skip back inside.
I make my single cup of coffee and start pulling the breakfast ingredients out of the fridge. Bacon, eggs, and sausage sound pretty good today.


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