It's been a week and a day since your heart stopped, and mine kept beating.
I look at your bed with Scout in it and your toys still hanging, and sometimes I can almost see you, especially in the dusk of night, or early morning light. But it's still too quiet.
It feels like a strange no-man's land. We're in this break between holidays where there's no school and I was already planning to be off work. But work starts again Wednesday, and school the following Monday and I suspect things may hit hard again. We had our routine. This dance of you and me, Michael, the dogs, getting ready in the morning that was almost a waltz as we moved through the things that needed to happen.
And now the music has changed. The steps have changed. I don't know this new dance, and I suspect I won't like it much.
Yesterday was your funeral. Honestly, I can't remember much of what I said. But Michael gave a beautiful life sketch and no one who was there will ever quite look at pie in the same way again. Matthew gave beautiful voice to what I hope were your thoughts, and Daddy taught powerfully. It was painful and healing at the same time.
Saying my final goodby and closing the casket on your earthly body was excruciating. I stroked your soft hair over and over in the hour before that time came, studied your face, trying to memorize the curl of your lashes, the tiny bump on your nose, the smirk that seemed to be hiding in the corner of your lips.
And then we had to close the lid. I won't see you again in this life, except in my dreams.
I miss you.
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