May 5, 2010

Sometimes….

I wonder if you’d know us.  If we were walking down the street, would you know us?  Would you recognize us?  Big Daddy and I?  The girls?  I know you’d never know Littlebit.  You probably wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a line up, even though she makes the same faces as you every now and then.  I think you’d know the Princess.  She looks a a lot like me.

You’d never pick out Baby Bee.  The possibility of her probably never occurred to you.  Littlebit was so small when you died that you probably never thought about us having more kids.  When Littlebit was five months old, it wasn’t on my mind.

And on Sunday, I realized that you wouldn’t be able to find any of us.  At the end of May, we’ll have all moved on from where we were when you were alive.  You wouldn’t even be able to give someone my new address.  Which is a funny thing to worry about because if God somehow granted you a free day pass to go back to earth, I’m sure he’d provide you with our addresses.

People have come into our lives and become important that you’ve never known.  Have never heard of.  We’ve done things that we never discussed with you.  That you never considered with us.

I think this year is when I stopped trying to figure out what happened.  It all happened so breathtakingly fast that I felt stunned and confused for so long.  How did we go from having the Princess stay with you for a week at Spring Break to your funeral in just about two months.  How does that HAPPEN? I still don’t know, but I’ve stopped trying to figure that out.  I realized it’s pointless.

In less than a month I’m moving back home.  To your home.  Walking distance to the places where you grew up and where I lived as a little girl.  The girls play on the playground where you broke your arm and they’ll swim in the pool where you swam.  They’ll go to the same High School.  I got choked up when I mentioned that to Dad.  The the girls will walk the same halls you walked and he walked.   We will be a  short distance to the pretty country cemetery, overlooked by the farm house and mooing cows.  Where your body lays.  With my grandmothers and now with my grandfather.  I can put flowers on your grave for every occasion.

But I hate that place.  I hate that you’re there.  I don’t care how pretty it is, I hate it.  I hate that the Princess cries and that Littlebit has no idea and runs around in crazy circles.  But you’re not there anyhow.  Just what’s left of your body and a bottle of wine, and pictures of two girls that you knew, and my brother’s college acceptance letter and Steve Yzerman and the ashes from the dog.

But I miss you.  Just about every day.  There are things I wish I could ask you.  Things I wish we could talk about.  In the last few years, we talked so much.  Every other day (because neither of us did enough to talk every single day).  I believe in Heaven.  I do.  And God.  I like to think you look down on us, but I just don’t know.

SHARE:
Tied Up One Reply to “Sometimes….”
Jamie

COMMENTS

One comment on “Sometimes….

    Author’s gravatar

    hugs, I am glad you all are coming HOME

Comments are closed.