I want your memories to be rich.
I want them to keep you warm.
I want smells to bring you back to your home, the one you started in.
I want sounds to take you back.
I want your memories to be rich.
I want our time together to be remembered the right way.
I want you to look back and realize how hard we all tried.
I want you to think back on each tradition, the ones I created, the ones you love
and I want you to know how much those were meant to stop time.
How much those were meant to slow us down, slow everything down.
How much those were meant to hit pause.
How much those were meant to create what became so special, so meaningful, so gorgeous.
I want you to go to the beach and not be able to not think of our summers at the Cape.
I want you to go to the track and not be able to not think of your dad.
I want you to sit on Christmas Eve and miss Nonna's food, the gifts, the family.
I want you to spend your first Thursday away from Framily and realize how amazing it was when...
When we were all together
when time stood still
when only love mattered
when it was this simple.
I want you to look back on your childhood and remember the smell of dad's sauce
and mom's perfume
and Nonna's gnocchi.
I want you to remember Easter and all of the cooking, all of the wine, all of the kids.
I want you to remember all the pools and all the Sunday family swims.
I want you to smell pancakes and immediately be transported to a Sunday around the island.
I want you to set the table on Sunday night and remember how much mom wanted it to be a little more special.
I want you to think how important it was to her that we focus on the good and show what we are grateful for.
I want you to remember your childhood as that, a childhood.
I want and I need to know that you had one
that you can remember being a kid.
I want and need to know that you had fun
you laughed
we played games, I need you to remember all the games we play, all the movies we fell in love with.
I need you to remember sand in your hair
and sun on your skin
and Pearl and Mia at our feet
I need you to remember puppy smooches
and mom cuddles
and dad's arms.
I want you to know that we were stable, even when we felt shakey.
I want you to remember that home is here.
I want you to remember the mother I was when we first started out.
The one you have zero memories of, but I hold on to.
The one that wrote a chapter she never thought she would, the one that held you, smelled you, fell madly deeply and forever in love with you.
I want you to remember the mother I was when I was running toward and away from love and you.
The one that struggled, the one that panicked.
I want you to remember the mother I am now, the one that listens to you, that turns everyone off to put all eyes on you.
The one that drops everything to play a game or read a story.
The one that will never say no when you ask for attention from me.
I want you to remember the mother I am now.
The one that makes mistake after mistake after mistake and comes to you on bended knee to ask for forgiveness, the one that demands the same from you.
I want you to remember the mother I am now, the one that laughs with you, teaches you, expects lots from you.
I want you to remember the mother I am now, the one that wants you to have a happy childhood.
I want you to remember the mother I will someday become.
The one that is scared of the future and letting go.
I want you to remember how much you loved each other.
How important having a sibling was.
I want you to remember your summers.
Your time with dad,
the track
the adventure days
the sun
the warmth
our town.
I want you to remember our little house at the Cape
how close we were to the beach
the framily that crammed themselves in.
I want you to remember your family.
That you always have a place
that you always belong
that you have a home to go back to.
I want you to remember that your family is strong, we are present, we are neverending.
I want you to remember the good, the bad and the ugly and we gave you plenty of all three.
I want to you remember times you were disappointed and times you were heartbroken and I want you to remember how you were still able to get up, go on.
I want you to remember times you, we were happy and times you, we weren't.
I want you to remember that families are alive and with life comes grace and love and imperfections and fog.
I want you to remember that we always loved,
we always tried.
I want your memories to be rich.
