My Father called me Beautiful.

My Dad spoke Chinese, he studied it regularly ever since he returned from his mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He didn’t get many chances to use it, except when I was born. He named me Meili or “Mei Li” which means beautiful. Of course, I was horrified anytime someone asked me what my name meant. And, to be honest, I feel still embarrassed when I have to tell people that my name means “beautiful.” Who really sees themselves as beautiful? But then my son was born, and I learned something.

My son is beautiful. No, he is gorgeous and amazing and incredible! And it has little to do with how he looks. He is beautiful on the ground making messes and waking up with puffy eyes and bird’s-nest hair. He is beautiful fast asleep wound up in half-off jammies and blankets. And now, I wish I could have really listened when my Dad called me beautiful.

When my dad passed away, too young for his age, it was heartbreaking and earth-shattering and all of those horrible things. As I looked through the photos of him and sought for evidence of the man that he was, the pictures of us lined up in matching outfits really didn’t do anything for me. I wanted pictures of him reading late into the night; memorizing poetry or studying up on Chinese. I wish I had pictures of him taking me to get donuts or a Slurpee on a hard day, Friday night Barnes and Noble dates, or offering me council across the desk in his home office.

So that’s my mission, to provide proof of life. Not the lined-up and forcing-everyone-to-smile life, but the messy and everyday and incredible life. This is the art I want on my coffee table and hanging on my walls. This is what I want for my friends and my family. This is the life I want to remember because it is beautiful.