I often sit and wonder what it would be like if you were here.
Would you still call me “doll”? Would hearing that make my cheeks turn several shades of pink as I immediately felt like a little girl again?
Would I still sit and listen, in complete amazement, at your old war stories?
Would our Saturday mornings still be full of breakfasts of bagels, lox, cream cheese, and whitefish salad?
Would you still have the same clock on top of your desk that chimed with each new hour?
Would we still ride on the ferris wheel, looking out across the ocean while we were stuck at the top?
Would you sit on the bench at 9th Street, feeding fresh Planters peanuts to the seagulls?
Would there be playful banter between you, a die hard Phillies fan, and my husband, a Mets fan? Would the two of you argue through each inning, calling the players ‘bums’, while you each secretly hoped the other team would lose?
Would you hold my children in your arms, with that same smile and big brown eyes gleaming down on them that always offered me comfort? Would you gaze at them with the same awe and wonder that I used to see when you looked at my firstborn?
Would you sing those same silly songs to them that I used to have whispered in my ear when I was a little girl?
Would you play ball with them, push them higher on the swings, and show them how to swim?
You would. All of this, you would.
Because this is who you were.
Kind, gentle, thoughtful, sincere, loving, and proud. So unbelievably proud of your family.
There is not a day that goes by that I don’t wish things were different. That you could still be here. Be a part of our family.
The wound is still deep, still open. There are times the pain is so fierce it shatters me inside. The reality of not having you here brings me to my knees.
I miss you.
With every passing day, each moment, I miss you.
Please, watch over us. Bring us comfort when I need it most.
Until we meet again…