You know, I was dreaming about you almost every night for several weeks until Jim died. Now, I don't see you in my dreams anymore. I'm trying to make sense of what that's about. But now, you seem close in my every day things, more so than usual.
Maybe it's the sentimental time of year, maybe it's all coincidence, but I know better. I started playing "Song Pop" on my iPhone for Zada (she wanted to compete with me) - and it reminds me so much that you used to try to do that to me: play a few second clip of a song and I'd have to guess it. You were always so good at it, so I didn't want to play. And every time I answer one right that I knew you'd be proud of (you having been much more musically cultured than me), there's a split second I find myself wanting to show you and see that approval on your face.
I finally cleaned out the utility room before our Christmas party last week. Going through your stuff is always challenging and emotional. I realize every time how much of my life is still very saturated with your influence and presence.
I randomly found myself watching old videos of Faith and Caleb on the computer. Oh, how I ache to see you alive and moving - I always feel a deep yearn to reach out and touch you, just to make sure you were real.
Yesterday, out of nowhere, I heard your voice singing South Park's Big Gay Al's "I'm super." I laughed remembering and realized it was one of those things I hadn't thought about maybe since you died. Steve had never heard it before, so of course, I had to look it up and play it for him. And I laughed more thinking about you singing it. And more importantly, the facial expressions that came along with it.
Speaking of things I haven't done since you died, we drove down Mound yesterday past the park you used to play softball at. All of a sudden, I looked up and noticed where we were and felt a tiny panic set in because I hadn't grieved this spot yet. I instantly knew where we were and had to tell Steve why it was significant. I feel the need to share all our significant places to anyone that will listen. I need someone else to know how important these places are, and I never want to forget why.
Carter and I spent the day shopping together earlier last week. I love spending one-on-one time with him, but the whole day I kept wondering what he would be like if you were still here. Would his personality be different because of your influence? Would he have picked up more of your mannerisms instead of mine? I know he's just the way he should be, but maybe that's what hurt about it. I wish just once, I could've seen you interact with him.
I have shed countless tears for the senseless tragedy that occurred last week in Connecticut. Aside from the fact that it is inconceivable that someone could harm children like that, and aside from my momma heart feeling ten times more protective of our own precious children, I also shed tears of knowledge. The knowledge of intense grief. Of loss. Of those families losing hope, losing faith, losing memories and plans, futures and pasts. The ache to be with their loved ones and the hole that will never fill for those families. It's a pain I would never wish on anyone.
I can't believe this will be my 3rd Christmas without you. It doesn't seem possible. And yet our last Christmas together feels like an eternity ago. Faith and Caleb were so little. I'm so looking forward to Christmas this year, and celebrating it with people I love and new traditions and new family. But there's always a special place in my heart that holds on to the innocence of our Christmas' together. My sweet memories of life before grief.
Thank you for staying close to me. I miss you more than I know how to describe. I felt the need to write it out and remember, and to tell you that I love you. Always and forever, I love you.