Also, is heightened the right word?
In an hour’s time, the entire family and I began our four hour trek to Las Vegas, where you’d been airlifted from your hotel room in Bullhead City. Flash flood warnings were reported as low as Fontana extending all the way up to the state line, almost our entire course - but we weren’t going to let that stop us from getting to you. I sat in the backseat as memories of you and I heightened, I couldn’t fight back the imminent stream of tears.
I recalled the times you’d call for mom from down the hall, hollering for her to come see the stash of Avon you’d stored in the hall closet. “Paaaaaty, come here!” you’d sing, your voice traveling down the hall into the dining room and out the back door. The late afternoon sun barely filling the hallway where you’d sit digging into the back of the closet for the latest shampoo or bubble bath.
And then there were the trips we’d take to Pic ‘N’ Save. We’d scour the toy isle, looking for something fun.
“Anything to keep you kids entertained,” you’d say.
I’d return to the porch to squish silly putty over the funnies, or play with the blow-loons you’d just bought for me. You’d holler for me to come eat lunch, another one of your peanut butter and butter sandwiches. I must have eaten a million of those growing up.