Today, I woke up and glanced at the clock.
And scolded myself for not getting out of bed.
I would surely hit traffic on the way to visit you at the Hospice Home.
Then it hit me.
I would not be going to see you today.
We have been married for 3,385 days.
In that time, we’ve only been apart a handful of times.
And during those times, we always spoke on the phone. Usually multiple times a day.
But not today.
And not ever again.
The grief counselor came to see the girls today.
And I think it’s safe to say that Carys is waffling between anger and sorrow. If there is a difference right now.
She’s been pulling me into my bedroom every couple of hours just to be held and talk about you.
I went ahead and gave the girls their fingerprint necklaces this morning.
They were so proud to be wearing your fingerprint close to their heart, literally.
Cailyn was reduced to frantic screaming and tears when she broke her chain.
But we fixed it. Good as new.
I also talked to the girls today about your service on Saturday.
They didn’t quite understand why I was walking around the house, pulling pictures and other things to take with us there.
So, I told them we were just having a Memory Party for you.
And it is.
Daddy’s Memory Party.
They seem to like the sound of that better anyway.
I guess I do, too.
Carys asked me if Jesus had a chef in Heaven.
And I explained to her that Heaven was Paradise – with any and everything you would ever need.
All your favorites.
And she quickly asked if Jesus’ chef would know how to make chocolate chip cookies the way you like them.
And I assured her you would have your cookies.
Then she told me that if the chef didn’t have the chocolate chips in the brown bag (Hershey’s), she could mail some to you.
And she checked to make sure you would have some milk, too.
I assured her you would have your milk. And that, finally, you would feel like eating.
She smiled and told me she was glad.
Sweet girl. Who misses you so very much.
She wanted to write a message to you on your quilt today.
She told me, “Write this, Mama….As high as the sky, as deep as the ocean. I love you, Daddy.”
For years, this is what I have told the girls every night before they go to bed.
I was so touched that she wanted to share that with you.
Today was the first day without you.
It was hard.
But we did it.
And tomorrow is another new day.
The start of a new life.
A life without you.
It doesn’t seem possible that you’re really gone.
I remember like it was yesterday, walking into our home for the first time.
You had painted all the rooms by yourself while I was busy packing the the other house.
You were so proud.
And I was so proud of you.
Just walls and doorways I pass through, now.
But I promise to find a way to fill this home with laughter again.
I really hope you know I am trying to do everything you wanted me to do.
It’s so hard.
But I am trying.