I've heard it said that in a true tapestry there is a single thread that stands out above all others. The idea of the tapestry has always been used in a metaphor about life. The interweaving of friends, lovers, and family members that come and go in our life establish a legacy of beauty seemingly messy and unfocused less we stand back and see the grander picture.
I remember when I was at the Vatican, in Rome. I walked as quietly as I could down the Gallery of Tapestries admiring the vibrancy of single threads woven together to create scenes from the life of Christ. I walked as closely as I could noticing single threads that stood out to the naked eye. Golds, reds, royal purples...there was always one that caught my eye. It started at the bottom, the beginning, and wove itself to the very top almost aimlessly yet carefully through the entire piece.
He started on February 8, 1981; a thread of vibrant red began. A hue of crimson always standing out in the fabric of life that at times seemed dull...monochromatic. I wouldn't notice this thread until years later when a different thread, me, began. When I think back over the tapestry of my own life, I see moments of utter sadness, pure joy, uncertainty, and wonder. And through all of these moments, I see this single, vibrant red thread.
I was unaware how that thread would remain in my tapestry long after the Weaver picked him for a grander tapestry. But his shadow, his legacy, still lives. Today, that thread continues to weave itself into the very breaths I take. I see him in the kites flying in the sky; I feel him in the tightness my chest experiences during instances of empathy; I hear him in the laughter of indisposed hilarity; I smell him in the coffee and strawberry bubblegum.
Happy birthday, my vibrant crimson. Happy birthday, my love. Happy birthday, my brother. Happy birthday, Andy. As always... 'til we meet again.
I remember when I was at the Vatican, in Rome. I walked as quietly as I could down the Gallery of Tapestries admiring the vibrancy of single threads woven together to create scenes from the life of Christ. I walked as closely as I could noticing single threads that stood out to the naked eye. Golds, reds, royal purples...there was always one that caught my eye. It started at the bottom, the beginning, and wove itself to the very top almost aimlessly yet carefully through the entire piece.
He started on February 8, 1981; a thread of vibrant red began. A hue of crimson always standing out in the fabric of life that at times seemed dull...monochromatic. I wouldn't notice this thread until years later when a different thread, me, began. When I think back over the tapestry of my own life, I see moments of utter sadness, pure joy, uncertainty, and wonder. And through all of these moments, I see this single, vibrant red thread.
I was unaware how that thread would remain in my tapestry long after the Weaver picked him for a grander tapestry. But his shadow, his legacy, still lives. Today, that thread continues to weave itself into the very breaths I take. I see him in the kites flying in the sky; I feel him in the tightness my chest experiences during instances of empathy; I hear him in the laughter of indisposed hilarity; I smell him in the coffee and strawberry bubblegum.
Happy birthday, my vibrant crimson. Happy birthday, my love. Happy birthday, my brother. Happy birthday, Andy. As always... 'til we meet again.
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