Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight …

“When you wish upon a star, it’s like a prayer to God. But a falling star is more potent … it’s like praying to Mary,” she whispered to me, hand still wrapped tightly around my head.

Apparently the falling stars had more power. Maybe whispering into the ear of a daughter, the Mother had more weight? I don’t know, I really don’t, but still …

… when I see a falling one, a falling star? I don’t just wish anymore – I give thanks.

That wasn’t always the case.

I remember a time, when Dad and I were driving through the desert towards Goldfield. It was during some sort of meteor shower. There were falling stars galore. I think we were listening to an old “Amos and Andy” radio show; Dad loved Amos and Andy … I remember his smile, lit up by the dashboard. And the moon. And the stars.

The car slowed and Dad told me to look up. Nothing more than that; just, “Look up”. The volume on the radio knob turned down, and for a few seconds we just looked at the stars.
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I wish I may, I wish I might …

Have the wish I wish tonight.

I have no idea what Dad wished for that night. And honestly, I can’t remember what I wished for either. But what I do remember is this – both of us were surrounded by the leathery smell of a vintage car, in the middle of the desert, lost in memory. And?

We smiled. There may have been tears, but we hid those from each other. We were just in the moment, looking at those bright stars, and wishing with all of our might.

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It is 28 years later and still I sit, boxes in front of me, mentally unpacking. I unpack Dad. And Mom. I unpack us. Not only us, but I unpack me – that weird combo of Dad and Mom, otherwise known as me.

I walk out of my (and our) front door and I look at the stars. I stop, close my eyes. And wish I could share this song with my folks; most especially Dad. It’s a song by Deb Talan called “Unraveling”. Instead of linking to the song, I will leave you with some lyrics. Lyrics that I wish I could share with Mom and Dad, as I open my face, arms, and heart to the heavens. As I smile and sing, the italics are what I would say (or sing) to them now, if I could:

He is inside you, he loved your marrow. (Mom? It’s true.)
You think you could cut him out with a knife (With your death? You did.)
if you went deep enough (You did. Ho-boy, how deep you went …)
I don't think so.
Maybe sing him back to living (In a way you did – he DID find some sort of life in lyrics)
'cause he might rise like a snake in a basket (And he did – anytime I brought you up … )
or he may close his eyes (He did this too. When I brought you up, he would close his eyes. Pinch the bridge of his nose. But? He would answer my question. Even if it killed him a bit inside. I think he was remembering. He was remembering a moment with you.)
and wait till his life is a full-fledged casket, floating on (I love you Mom, I really do. But once you died? Every moment after your death? He was counting down the minutes to his own.)
a river of tangled string... (Again, I love you, but you left us with a tangled skein of yarn. And I am the one left unraveling it, at least now.)
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Have the wish I wish tonight.


I never realized this, but yeah. I guess “Mother” really is synonymous with “God”, at least when you are a five year old.

I really wish (wish I may, wish I might) that I just had the chance to know.

To know her.

To know me.

To know them.

To know how WE would get along.
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Sometimes … ?

… I just wish …