A few nights ago, I heard my son laugh from upstairs. The laughter tinkled merrily down the stairs from up high to down where I was standing in the kitchen. It was the laugh of a four year old – giddy, unrestrained, and in those chucklesome, high-pitched, and somehow fairy-like tones that only children that young can achieve.

That night I heard the free, sincere, heartfelt laughter of my son, and I had a thought, suddenly. It hit me without consideration and washed over me harshly. It did not care what I was doing when it came on, or where it would leave me after it fled into the night beyond me.

And the thought was this:

There will come a day when I will not be so privileged as to hear that sound anymore as a common occurrence in my life, my day to day What Is, my moments possible to take for granted (even though I don’t want to). There will come a time when that laugh does not even exist anymore.

There will be a day when forever more I will not be able to hear that sound. His laughter will still be accessible to me (sometimes) but it will never sound that way again. It will become lost forever in the vault, deep and wide and sometimes difficult to navigate, that contains my lifetime of memories.

And memories have this awful way of fading and being so hard to recall in a tangible way, so hard to truly feel in the same way as they were once experienced.

I stood there, at the foot of the stairs, frozen in that moment. I stood there, playing that brief sound over and over in my head, savoring it. I was all alone, and may have nearly appeared catatonic in that moment of true consideration and revelation.

Braden may never know that he’s ever done something so simple but so incredibly and effortlessly meaningful that it captivated his mother so greatly. He might not realize that she once stood quietly relishing the joyous beauty of a 3 second laugh he uttered about a little bit of something more than nothing that faded into the night without him giving it another passing thought.

When I write these moments, it is like I’m drawing a map to put up on the inside of that vault, so that when I dive into it later, so much later, maybe I can find these most important of thoughts and feelings, these memories of the most golden days, and hold them near me again for a few moments.

And I will know.

And now you do, too.

Sometimes Braden (now age 4.5) asks me how to say things in Spanish. I go to this website and we enter words and then we learn now to say them together. He especially enjoys the feature where you can actually listen to a pronunciation of the word. Unfortunately, however, he gets really frustrated when we encounter a Spanish word with an “r” in it, and he can’t say it exactly the same way. I’ve tried to help him learn how to roll his r’s, but he hasn’t been successful yet.

Today he asked how to say “tree” in Spanish. The answer is “arbol.” He became very frustrated about the sound of his r’s again. I began encouraging him to keep trying, but he just kept telling me, “NO, because I CAN’T do it.” This prompted me to launch into a long discussion with him about how you have to keep trying when you can’t do something the first time, rather than giving up, if you really want to learn it. I even gave him examples from my childhood.

(I totally went through torturous and seemingly endless trials in front of the bathroom mirror to learn how to roll my tongue. I was going to be damned if my brother could do that and I could not, and refused to believe the BS idea everyone was feeding me that it’s a genetic trait and you can’t do it unless you inherit that. IN YO FACE, FALSE POP SCIENCE.)

Braden indicated he didn’t agree with my sage advice about trying and learning. So I told him that he can take a slightly easier path and trust my advice, or he can be stubborn and take the hard road through life. He considered this for a few moments, and replied, “I think that instead, I am going to take the heart road, Mommy.”

Me: “What?”
Braden: “I’m going to take the heart road instead.”
Me: “Oh? What is that road like?”
Braden: “It has lots of heart patterns on it. Red ones and pink ones too, and I like them. And lots of heart rocks. And heart shaped trees.”
Me: “How does that make you feel?”
Braden: “It makes me feel so happy.”
Me: “And where does this road lead?”
Braden: “It leads to everywhere you want to go. And there are stars racing in the sky.”

My friends, the heart road is paved with red and pink heart patterns, strewn with heart rocks, and lined with heart shaped trees. It will make you feel happy, stars will race in the sky overhead as you travel, and it leads to “everywhere you want to go.”

I guess being happy on “the heart road” is better than being miserable while struggling to learn rolling your r’s in the long run, huh? This kid kind of totally disarms me every damn day. And he really has no idea how brilliant these things he says really are.

I’m still a firm believer in trying for the things you desire, but I’m glad to have someone in my life who reminds me it’s not always a bad idea to voluntarily take the heart road.

One of those people is a lil’ lady who became known ’round Blogosphere Land as Moosh In Indy. That would be Casey Mullins.

I was reading her years ago, impressed with her writing and the way she just put it all out there (I tend to be drawn to those types, go figure) which really made her something of a role model to me. That’s the kind of person I have always been and wanted to continue being.

And then she went and mentioned me in a post.

And what she said about me, completely unprovoked, took me by surprise and totally melted my heart. It was pretty much one of those girl crush moments in your life when your pittery pattery heart is singing that song of “weeeeeeeeee, she likes me tooooo.” (Please tell me you’ve heard that song in your heart.)

And over the years, I’ve gotten to share moments with her when we both ended up at the same travel destinations, and many a laugh through blog comments, Facebook posts, and Twitter reply conversations. She’s a part of my world that keeps it spinning with a smile at the top and a little booty shake at the bottom.

It hurt my heart to see her struggle with expanding her family. This is a woman with so much love to give, so much creativity and wisdom to share. Her body was not playing nice with her for some time; The Universe was not playing nice with her. I was angry on her behalf.

She? Kept it real and was honest about her feelings and I’ll be damned if she didn’t still handle the most difficult of things with the most amazing grace you could ever imagine from a person trapped in a sack of turds with no sure way to see the light or open the knot at the top.

(Forgive the imagery, but something tells me Casey will appreciate it.)

And that’s what makes her not only a friend in my book, but also a role model.

Later, when she finally got pregnant, she emailed me to tell me before she posted it online. Somehow, in some incredibly selfless way, she was concerned that the news of her pregnancy would upset me (after having had 2 miscarriages).

And that’s what you call selfless and loving, kind and generous, to the utmost degree. And again, she was not only a friend, but a role model.

Are you catching this trend?

Just this past year, when my heart was in a very tenous place, she sent me a magnet. It had a saying on it that I needed so very badly to see/hear.

The Universe might be a jerk sometimes, but it often delivers the very best things just at the right time. Somehow, Casey is really good at being the vehicle of the Universe’s better side.

This woman is the kind of woman who you are thankful to call friend if you are so lucky, and who you want to be like. The kind that makes you want to be a better person, while at the same time making you laugh and expanding your mind.

Casey, thank you for being you. The world is a brighter, happier, more meaningful place because you exist.

Happy Birthday. I hope you’ve enjoyed your first 25 years on this earth. *wink* We’ve sure enjoyed having you here, my friend.

I get the pain that you feel when you don’t have a special love.

I get the way it seems you’re being left out when so many are celebrating.

I get it.

I get the disgust over commercialized love and tricking the masses into feeling good about handing over money for silliness.

I get it.

I get that we shouldn’t need a day assigned to loving on the people who mean the most to us, because we should be doing that anyway.

I get it.

I get all of that, and more.

And still?

I don’t mind it. I’m not a Valentine’s Day Hater.

I don’t mind one more chance, reminder, reason, excuse or moment set aside to celebrate, support, love, admire, lift up, and cherish those who make me smile, float, spin, swell, beam, and love.

{i love you!}

My husband, son, mother, father, sister, brother, extended family members, best friends, neighbors, and all of my in-person and online buddies of all kinds… I am sending love and joy to you all today.

I get it.

And I hope you have a wonderful day, no matter how you feel about it.

Happy Valentines Day.

“Where life exists, love exists.”

~source unknown

Day 7 Prompt – Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011? (Prompt Author: Cali Harris)

Day 8 Prompt – Beautifully Different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful. (Prompt Author: Karen Walrond)

Community.

I’ve found it in my neighborhood – for the first time in my life I have neighbors who I’d also call best friends.  They have enhanced my sanity in countless ways over the past many months, and, man, am I grateful for them. (They also ply me with wine, and man, do I love them for that.)

I’ve found it in my town.  Friends who see your flaws and issues and don’t care, but go the extra mile to help you get around them are pretty damn priceless. (Especially the ones who make thinly veiled crotch jokes with you.)

And I’ve found it where I’ve found it for the last several years: online. On blog, Twitter, and Facebook, and with Skype, I have found, forged, and maintained friendships that will last a lifetime. Many of these are with people I’d never have met, much less had lengthy emotional conversations and in-depth philosophical discussions with, if it hadn’t been for this Information Super Highway.

The Internet saves my life a little bit every day (laugh if you will, I am not joking even a little) by connecting me with people who form a support network that gives me advice, makes me laugh, sometimes makes me cry (jerks) and lifts me up when it seems impossible to be anywhere but down.

Different?

I’ve spent my whole life focusing on the ways I’m different. My parents taught me that it was okay to be different. The world argued.

As an adult I know the truth: we’re all different from someone (which is okay, fabulous even), but nobody is different from everyone. And that is one of the very reasons we can find community here.

Because the things that make us different and the things that make us the same are all beautiful, in their place. They keep us connected while at the same time interesting and valuable to one another. We are able to share different perspectives, experiences, and strengths, while simultaneously finding kindred souls who share our heartsong.

One of the greatest lessons of my life has been this: the most beauty blooms when we don’t focus on either the similarities or the differences, but on being there for one another, supporting, building and growing together. Dare I say it, Loving together. Then we truly thrive.

Community. Beautiful.

Reverb 10 is an annual event and online initiative to reflect on your year and manifest what’s next. Use the end of your year as an opportunity to reflect on what’s happened, and to send out reverberations for the year ahead.