Today just feels heavy.
I don't know if it's just because... Well, you know, grief.
Or because it's 30 weeks tonight into tomorrow.
Or because I'm worried about some family members.
Or it's that tomorrow we go to the temple with Michael which really seems to emphasize that we're empty nesters long before I thought we would be.
I mean, really, I knew that to get to this milestone, you would be gone, but I didn't plan for that. I didn't want it. I still don't.
I guess if people read the blog, they probably think I'm generally in pretty rough shape.
I'm not, it's just that when I am, I write. I write to you, 'cause I miss you. I spent nearly every single day of your life with you. And over the last year, it was also almost every single night as well. I talked to you every day. I did your cares, I changed your diapers, pulled meds, gave food, laughed, and wrestled you. Held your hand for IVs, art lines, echos (okay, those I held your body too) and so many more procedures. You counted on me to keep you safe, and I tried, I tried so hard.
We were intimately involved in each other's life.
For the past 14 years, I haven't been able to wear my hair down at home. It's funny, 'cause I can if I'm not at home, but the minute I walk through the door, it has to go up. I totally blame that on you. You loved to grab my hair, my glasses, anything within your reach. You wanted to connect, and so did I (just not with my hair).
And now, connecting seems so much harder.
Tomorrow I'll be in the temple, in the celestial room, where I sat with you last summer. Will you be there? I think you will be. I hope you will be.
Are you watching over us?
I miss you.
Love,
Mama
I find myself searching the crowds for your face –
I know it’s an impossibility, but I cannot help myself.”
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