Oh goodness, I need to change the subject! I am a mess behind this keyboard. Something I have been meaning to post about is how I don't see yellow jeeps anymore. At first I was so disappointed, but then as I was reflecting about it, I realized the timing of when I stopped seeing the yellow jeeps everyday was right after Lucas was born. God's love is so delicate, and it is as if Victoria was looking after me and staying close every day up until our new life came to us in Lucas. I feel like she stayed close to me until Lucas came to share in that closeness of my heart. It's amazing really. I still see her yellow Jeep every once in a while when I am having a hard day, almost like a reminder that she is still with me and knows when my heart is heavy. Thank you Victoria for loving me the way you do. For 18 years, you were my little sister with the blonde curly hair and now you are my angel in Heaven. I talk to Ava about you every day. I tell her that her aunt "Tor-Tor" is her angel in Heaven watching over us.
Below are pictures from her grave marker that finally arrived a few weeks ago. It's beautiful and so perfect. Deer often come out of the woods when we are there. It's pretty incredible. I tried to make the picture large so you can read the poem on it. Victoria wrote that in high school, and it's a perfect memoir for her. I will try to type up the poem and post it later. It's special because my mom put it up on the fridge the day she typed it up (I think she was in 10th grade) and it has been on our fridge ever since.
My family and I love this poem because Victoria completely captured so many of our family memories growing up. I love it!
My South by Victoria Heil.
My South is long Sundays at the Parish Picnic, painting faces and going on hayrides. In my South, lemonade stands on the sewer filled our cups with quarters in the summer heat. My south is like a painting where only my Dad and our bikes exist on the top of a red clay mountain. In my South, nights were lit by marshmallows on fire after a lazy day of splashing in the creek. My South is that millisecond moment ten feet in the air after my uncle airborne my tube at the lake. In my South, hours of laughter consume a family night of cribbage and dominos at the kitchen table. My South is having bottle rocket battles in the cul-de-sac following a long afternoon at Stone Mountain. In my South, I’m distinguished on humid days as the blonde girl with a full head of frizzy curly hair. My South is sitting in the rocking chairs outside Cracker Barrel awaiting a huge brunch of cheesy grits. My name is Victoria Heil, and this is my South.