I know you will not receive this letter the way you would have when you were here, but maybe this is more for me than it is for you. Maybe it is my heart trying to put into words what has been sitting there quietly for the past year. I miss you. There are so many things I wish I could tell you. So many little moments I would give anything to experience one more time. When I think about you, I remember the late-night lectures — the ones I probably did not appreciate as much as I should have back then. I remember sitting on the stairs, listening to you teach me, guide me, correct me, and shape me. I remember 7th Street in Kingfisher, where our home became my classroom. I remember wishing I could go to a regular school with other kids. At the time, I did not understand why my life was different. I wanted what everyone else seemed to have. But now, looking back with the eyes of someone who has lived more life, I see what I could not see then. I see a mom who had so much to do, so ma...
There are days when life makes perfect sense. The sun is shining. The bills are paid. The people we love are gathered close. Our prayers seem to rise straight to Heaven and come back wrapped in peace. On those days, "Hallelujah" rolls off the tongue with ease. Then there are the other days. Days when shadows linger longer than they should. Days when the doctor's report brings more questions than answers. Days when grief sits beside us at the table and refuses to leave. Days when our minds become tangled in a thousand thoughts, trying to understand what cannot be understood. Those are the days that teach us what Hallelujah really means. The human mind is a remarkable thing. It searches for reasons. It wants explanations. It wants every loose end tied neatly into a bow. We look at the world and try to separate everything into categories: good and bad, victory and defeat, blessing and sorrow. Yet life rarely cooperates with our neat little boxes. Sometimes joy and sorrow s...