St. Patrick’s Day always makes me think of you.

Last night, I was breathing in the sweet smell of my little baby girl, happily thinking of how pleased I’m sure you are that she has red hair.  No denying it now–there are streaks of fire on that girl.

I smelled you.  Not the bottled up version of you that I have tucked away for when I miss you, but the real thing.  The orange and red shag carpet, the red stove, the morning sun shining in through the kitchen window while you sat at the island reading the paper and drinking your coffee.

I miss your songs and when you would have strawberry soap.

You gave a kiss to Annabelle and told me some good secrets about her.  She is like me…happy and free and reckless and she already doesn’t give a shit about anyone else’s agenda.  Another butterfly.  I will be patient.

I love you.  I miss you.

~ j

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