How’s the afterlife?
Remember that time you brought home barbecue ribs at midnight on a school night? I think I was nine years old.
And then there were all those Friday-family-jam-nights at Uncle Howard and Aunt Bobby Jean’s house. I think everyone in our family could play guitar and sing.
Remember that guitar you gave me for my 10th birthday? You know the one; you hand-painted my name on it. I don’t sing much anymore, but I married someone who does – he’s amazing – you’d love him.
Speaking of that guitar, it went missing for a while. I put it away to keep it safe. A few years back, I was reminiscing about that guitar with Wayne (the hubby) and Larry (Wayne’s cousin).
In my heart I felt this profound and passionate desire to find it, I needed to reconnect with that part of you and me. Anyway, that was a Thursday night.
On Friday morning, I sat down at the computer and started to write (think I was working on a grant for a non-profit, I use my words to help people). At the time, I was listening to music. Music helps me write. Something about the beat and rhythm of the keyboard – I suppose I lose track of time and let go.
Well, the Beatles were singing “Let It Be.” I know it sounds made up, right? Then my phone rang. It was Brittany (your granddaughter). And she said, “Hey, remember that guitar with your name painted on it? It fell out of the closet last night and hit Matt on the head.”
I know heaven seems like an imaginary place- far, far away, but I know better.
Maybe it’s time for me to put strings on that old guitar and write a song.
All my love,
Monty
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