During dinner the hubby was scrolling through his playlist on his iPhone and picking the “High Heeled Mama” songs. The songs I go back to time and again. The songs I’d deem perfect. There was Bill Wither’s “Ain’t No Sunshine” and Marc Broussard’s “Home” and Prince’s “Adore” and Ray Charles’ “Georgia” and Rent’s “525,600 Minutes” among others.
Before the hubby went to get the boys ready for bath time, he chose an Alison Krauss song. A friend of mine, who has passed, found her voice as perfect as I do. In the quiet, I raised my glass to the sky, taking a moment to remember him and lose myself in the perfection of Alison’s voice.
Then, from around the corner, came my five year old. Naked as the day he was born. Streaking through the living room shouting “Naked 5 year old! Naked 5 year old!”
And I couldn’t help but smile. Not just at the absurdity of the moment, but in the truth that this lost friend would find it completely hilarious.
I can almost hear him laughing now.