Tomorrow, I’m going back to a place I haven’t been in 8 years.
It was our place.
It’s where we sat staring up at the Aspen adorned cliffs for the first time.
I remember telling him that when I died, I would come back as one of them;
I wanted the rustle of the round, fragile leaves to be my voice in the next life.
It’s where we reluctantly cycled down the hill,
Only to feel the rush once we looked back up.
It’s where we hiked to the waterfall and watched the fish feed.
And, it’s where he called my father to ask for his permission.
It’s where we lounged on the dock, suspended over the lake, tossing stale crumbs to the ducks.
When we got up to leave, he grabbed my hand,
Softly declaring my name, on one brave knee,
He took a chance on a lifetime; I did, too.
It’s where we came back each year, our lives maturing; we were a family then.
Our initials grew from two to four, carved on the dock that we took a chance on.
I haven’t been back since.
It’s been a place suspended in time, just like the dock.
And now it’s time.
It’s time to go back and press play, make new memories and rejoice in the old ones.
I plan to take the girls to the dock, to show them where they started.
They deserve to know that they were created from magic, from trust, from courage, from love.
I’m nervous about the ghosts,
About them coming to life and crowding the present,
But I can’t ignore them anymore.
It’s time to go back and move forward.