Mother's Day

This has been a very kind of different day for all of us this year.

Some of it  was the same. We got up and went to church together. I got a card from Sam that he made in class. We've spent the entire day together.

But it has been so very different.

Mike is not here to fix his oh-so-delicious fajitas on the grill. We went to City BBQ instead. It was good, as usual, but it wasn't the same.

Mike isn't here to take the kids down to visit with his mom. They went down, but I took them this year instead of grabbing some quiet time at the house.

Mike isn't here. For six months now, Mike isn't here.

And I hate it. I miss him so much, every single day.

And it's not just the big things I miss, like birthdays and Christmas and Thanksgiving. I miss the little things. I miss just texting him during the day to tell him something funny one of the kids said. I miss asking him what he'd like to have for supper. I miss being able to tell him I hear peepers on the way home.

I miss him, because he's not here, but yet, he's everywhere. I can't get away from him. He's in the house, in the car, at church and at our families' homes. He's at dance and the grocery store and at restaurants. He's at all those places because we always went to those places together. He's there, but I can't touch him or speak with him. I can't snuggle up to him with his arm around my shoulder like we've done thousands of times. His absence is so painful and yet, so is his presence. His presence is painful because it's only a memory of him, not really him.

One of the ladies from our small group sent us a card last week. I did ok reading it until she wrote, "I miss Mike and Ranelle together."

I do too, Miss Brenda. I do too.