Memoir 13

I brush my lips against her ear and whisper, “I love you.”

Her fur carries that dusty, fresh earth-scent-- like sun-warmed

dirt and quiet adventures, like she’s been threading herself

through fields and slipping beneath

trailers collecting the day in her coat. It clings to her in a way

that feels alive, untamed.

She breaths softly. Steady, grounded.

Jay’s hand rests in mine, warm and silky, the fine lines

mapping out years of living I don’t need explained.

My thumb traces them absentmindedly, like reading something

familiar in a language I already understand.

My spirit knows you now, and my soul will know you again. In another lifetime, our fingertips will touch—and the same spark will answer.

I never want the memories we’ve created together to fade—the quiet moments, the laughter, the way time seemed to soften around us. Maybe in another lifetime, we’ll meet again on a different level, carrying with us everything we learned, everything we endured, everything we loved in this one.

And somehow, our story will find its way back to itself—pieced together like a masterpiece we’ve been shaping all along.

From sunlit picnics to slow weekends in bed… from wandering through gardens with my son to the warmth of family and familiar faces—we’ve built something real. Something that doesn’t just disappear.

I believe we’ll find each other again.And when we do, we’ll recognize it instantly—like something unfinished finally continuing,like a spark that never really went out.

Take me back to moments of last year. With the cool breeze through the canyon, the trees whispering around our shoulders, the stars peaking at us through the trees and the rain still sleek on the blades of grass

You and I are both whole on our own, and yet somehow, when we are together, you feel like my other half.Since the day I met you, I’ve felt more complete—like I move through the world with a deeper sense of steadiness. Maybe it’s not that I was ever incomplete, but that you care for me in the ways I sometimes don’t know how to care for myself.

I’m grateful to have you in my life, and for the way we seem to meet even in our dreams—like our connection exists beyond just the waking world.With you, I feel loved, accepted, and seen on every level.

I’m writing this in the hope that you feel it too.

The three of us pause at the first sign—a map of the gardens.

Jay suggests we wander betweenthe medicinal and the herbal paths.

As we walk, B reads each placard,trying to keep up.So we slow down,letting the pace soften.

It’s our fourth time here,but Bridger’s first day at Red Butte Garden.We’ve waited over a year to bring him.

Jay and Bridger point outgiant bumblebees hoveringover dome-shaped flowers.I bend down, zooming in,trying to catch their movement.

We take the staircase up—Jay showing Bridger the vines,and the place we once stood,looking out over the valley.

Then, almost at the same time,they both point—a butterfly—

but it’s gone too quicklyfor me to line up the shot.