Some of the Faces
We’ve had a strange life
together.
Many moves. Many faces. Two
kids.
When our daughter was born
in Craig, Co
three days after
Christmas,
the 16 below dropped to
40 the next few weeks.
Some nights we had to keep
her in bed with us.
One time when she had
jaundice,
you laid her on your
tummy in the sunshine,
you in your long johns
and her in her diaper.
I called you captain
underwear and super kid.
I had never seen your
eyes so full
of love, pride, and
tenderness.
When our son was born in
Cortez, CO
three days after Easter,
we lived on sixteen
acres and your mom
visited, telling me to
quit being selfish
for keeping the baby to
myself.
He was eight days past
due.
Because there were so
many Nathans,
when the doctor said he
just named his baby Nathan,
I decided Nathaniel would
be his middle name.
I told you not to leave
until the baby had a name.
We made it to the Es and
named him Eli.
Later, his sister came
running into the hospital room,
“Mommy, Mommy I rode the
alligator!”
Then there was the day
we got Lacy
Twisted, blind, mute. There
was nothing
like the feeling of
holding her.
I remember seeing you in
church holding her
and I knew you felt it,
too.
You were heroic when it
came
to the problems we
encountered with her.
Then there was Dennis
who everyone
fell in love with. Playing
peekaboo at bedtime.
We laughed when he
called you Buzzard
and everyone else
knothead or bonehead.
We didn’t realize he had
cancer.
He died only after
having him six months.
And then came Vanassa
whose smile lights up a
cave
She’s got you wrapped
around her finger.
And every time you brush
her teeth,
I hear her delightful
belly laugh.
And Justin, our forty-one
year old toddler.
How he loves when you
hug him
and tease him, and act
like a clown.
Yes, we have had many
memories,
over the past 38 years
since we met.
Good ones and bad ones,
but the ones I remember
most
are the way you treat
people,
especially the “least of
these.”
And I savor your strong
shoulders and hugs.
