Your mom’s birthday is coming up soon. On December 18th she’ll be 32 years old. I can’t believe it. Not the age thing. I can’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of knowing your mom for eight years now.
She was one of the first people I met when the band moved to Salt Lake. It took her some time, but eventually she actually became friends with us. Another thing I can’t believe.
Someday, I’ll tell you the story of how I met your mother. For now, all you need to know is this:
I’ve traveled the world and have been to a lot of incredible cities. I’ve met a lot of incredible people, some famous, some just downright good folks. I’ve done a lot of incredible things and I know I’ll do even more incredible things still. But when I get to the end of my life, whether it’s you, St. Peter, or Jesus that asks me, “What was the best part?” I’ll say, “Cherie.”
If you ever come to me and say, “Dad, do miracles happen?” I’ll tell you, “Your mom married me, didn’t she?” You might think I’m kidding, but I’m not. Your mom is my miracle. Your mom is proof that God loves me. Your mom is proof that the right woman will make you want to change in the right ways for the right reasons. Your mom is proof that life is not fair, and that sometimes the A-hole gets the angel.
Your mom and I have an awesome story, and I’ve written the soundtrack to many parts of that story. When I was wrestling with my feeling for your mom before we began dating I wrote some songs. For our wedding I wrote and recorded the song she walked down the aisle to, as well as the song that played while we took communion. By the way, our exiting song was Tom Petty’s Waiting for Tonight.
I’ve been away from your mom for the last few weeks. It’s been difficult. Part of the way I’ve been dealing with it is giving the difficulty a soundtrack.
It’s been difficult because your mom permeates every aspect of my life. I smile at stupid jokes only because I think she would find them funny. I ordered Pad Thai the other day, not because it sounded good, but because it’s what she would have ordered had she been there. I even make my bed at Aunt Niki’s house because I know your mom would do it if she were here with me.
Lewis, that same frustration – the fact that your mom is everywhere I look, just like in all those Motown songs – is also what has kept me sane. She’s my problem and my solution. My addiction and prescription.
Seeing her profile in the clouds while waiting for the train takes my mind away from the biting cold. The lady who dropped the gallon of vinegar that burst at the grocery store last night made me think of how your hippie mom uses vinegar to clean everything, which is why I stayed in that line when everyone else left. Even when I found myself at a restaurant that a lot of our friends love but secretly your mom and I hate, I didn’t mind, because our mutual loathing of this restaurant is one of the many things that make us perfect for each other.
What I’m trying to say, Lewis, is that your mother is the good in my bad situations, and she’s the best part of my good ones. That’s why a song telling her so exploded out of me.
I love your mom, Lewis. It’s hard to imagine, but God loves her more.