I'd Go Back in Time

I'd go back in time.
I'd go back to the moment you walked in the door,
telling me on and on about how your day went.
Back to witnessing the innocence and joy you had in working with your dad.


I'd go back in time.
I'd go back to the morning you came down the stairs to let me know how beautiful I was.
I'd go back to the time you joked about me looking like a banana, dressed in all my yellow.
You liked to match as much as I did... if I remember correctly.


I'd go back to our garage and the driveway,
as you made me watch you shoot those three pointers
until I was dismissed.
I was always amazed how you could shoot like that without your glasses, knowing you couldn't see three feet in front of you.


I'd go back to the time you performed your poetry.
So confident of your ability and skilled at your craft.
Sometimes you would send chills down my spine, as I listened and watched.
Then you'd walk away with this little grin,
knowing you accomplished what you set out to do.
Command attention.


I'd go back in time.
I'd go back to that Christmas morning when you opened your gift of the "Camaro" Hot Wheels, before we walked you through the garage to outside, to the real thing.
It wasn't a Camaro, but it was a car.
And it was yours.
You hopped in that car right away.


I'd go back to that Mother's Day
where you were so excited about giving me a gift
that you dropped it and it broke.
I was so happy anyway and so thankful that you thought of me.
..."But it's green, Mom."
I'll never forget those words, Joe.


I'd go back to our living room, where we sat on the couches
opposite each other, watching Lost.
Or the time you finally convinced your dad to watch Supernatural
and the look on your face whenever he said,
"Sammy."
It was the little things that mattered to you.


I'd go back to when you were just about two years old
and how you would lean across the coffee table to watch Jurassic Park, just to rewind it over and over and over again.
And then you would fall asleep.
We ended up having a coffee table without the glass in it.
It became your favorite spot.


I'd go back in time.
I'd go back to the time we came home from church and you spoke about your wedding day and actually getting dad to commit to wearing white.
You said to him, "I bet you would do it that day."
While dad said, "Yep. I would. For you. Only that day." LOL
(He still hasn't worn white).


I'd go back to when I dropped you off at daycare
and you held onto my leg, not wanting to let go.
To the many days you would give me those great big bear hugs,
vowing never to let me go.
Who knew...
Holding on to my leg was the equivalent to the bear hug.


I'd go back in time.
I'd go back to the night you and the girls and Christian sat up one night watching TV, while dad and I went to bed.
And as I fell asleep, all I could hear was the sound of laughter coming from downstairs.
It made my heart smile.


I'd go back to the week before you left us
and I would hold you a little tighter,
not wanting to let you go,
knowing what was up ahead.


I'd go back in time to all the good times.
To all the times not so good and try to make them better.


I'd go back in time if it meant I would get to see you again.
Even if it was only an hour.